Upon a Crooked Path
by daykestrel
Summary: Winter in Maine - cold, harsh, and unforgiving. Regina has lost her son to the family of her worst enemy. On a dark winter night, she makes the choice to lose herself to the outside world. Devoid of memories, she desperately seeks a new path. Emma follows, determined to bring Regina home to their son. Swan Queen.
1. Chapter 1

Thank-you withabrandnewname for the great cover! Check her out on Tumblr: post/48468890026/once-upon-a-crooked-path-by-dayks trel-complete

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_A/N: If the opening to this story feels familiar to you, there's a good reason for that. When I wrote "Leaving Storybrooke" last fall I had originally envisioned a much longer story. But I didn't have the time to tackle it, so I re-worked the outline to be significantly shorter. And very different._

_But the idea wouldn't leave me alone, so here it is. It's moved slowly (I'm about two months behind where I was hoping to be), however it's mostly complete and the updates will come quickly._

_So this will start off very much the same as "Leaving Storybrooke", but will quickly take a different turn. This is what I had in mind originally, so I hope you'll forgive the overlap in this first chapter._

_Also, please note that this splits off from the show at the 2012 winter break, after episode 2x9 "Queen of Hearts"._

_Enjoy!_

_-DK_

* * *

January in Maine. It's been twenty-nine years and Regina still finds herself surprised by the weather.

Their old land had winter to be sure, but something in the magic, or perhaps in the will of the fairies who turned the seasons, must have tempered winter's strength. Snow in that land had fallen softly, mostly at night, covering the ground in gentle waves of brilliant whiteness. Yes the wind blew at times, but it was more likely to bring fairy dust than frostbite.

Here in Storybrooke, on the coast of Maine, winter means extremes. Two days ago it had been well above freezing, with torrents of heavy, stinging rain driven off the ocean and onto land by a relentless, howling wind. Then overnight the temperature had dropped, leaving behind sheets of ice in the streets and walkways. The roads were virtually impossible to drive safely on, and the ice falling from roofs and overhead wires was a hazard to anyone on foot.

And then a blanket of snow had fallen, covering the ice and leaving behind roads even more treacherous than before.

There is something about the January weather in Maine that is strangely appealing. Relentless and unpredictable, Regina glories in the power of nature and the inconveniences it places on others. She herself has no set schedule these days, and so when the boy who used to shovel her driveway and front walk doesn't show, she simply laces up her boots and walks into town.

Earlier today a series of wispy, high clouds had dropped about a quarter inch of dry snow, tiny ice crystals that have gathered in the cracks in the sidewalk and around the bases of buildings, lamp posts, and around the tires of the few scattered vehicles parked out on the streets.

Then sometime in the late afternoon the clouds had moved off, leaving behind a clear night sky.

Regina stands stiffly on the sidewalk across the street from Granny's diner, insignificant under the black heavens above. Her booted feet are placed precariously on the mixture of snow, ice, salt and gravel scattered about the street. If she was still the mayor she would have given her maintenance department an earful. But she's not the mayor. Not anymore.

The air is cold, cold enough to cause an ache in her lungs and so she breathes carefully, shallowly, a warm scarf wound tightly around her neck and ears. Above her the stars shine, bright and crystalline in this small coastal town with so little light pollution.

While the weather may be different in this land, the stars have always been the same. When she'd first arrived Regina had wondered at that, wondered if the stars were the same in all worlds, and it had brought her a measure of comfort, one thing at least that was familiar in this strange new place.

She'd considered asking Jefferson about it once, asking if all lands fell under the same heavens, but she never did ask. The stars have always been her private friends.

Above hew now shines the constellation Orion, the hunter of winter. Two bears, foraging for food. Cassiopeia the queen, whom Regina had despised in person but found much more tolerable after she had been transformed into a series of quiet, cold stars.

And perhaps brightest of all shine the Pleiades, a cluster of light known for granting knowledge, both magical and esoteric. These stars in particular are ones a younger Regina had spent many hours gazing upon, searching for strength and knowledge.

Tonight however her eyes are focused forward, not up, and the Pleiades shine unnoticed above. Across the road, the windows of Granny's are fogged with moisture, the thin film blurring its occupants into blobs of color and composition. Yet there is no mistaking the four figures in the booth nearest the door.

Henry sits with his back to the entrance, his shirt sleeve occasionally brushing against the condensation on the window, leaving behind streaks of water droplets and a clear view of his elbow and side. He's wearing a blue plaid shirt, not one that she picked out for him but one that looks annoyingly like a shirt that David Nolan would wear. Prince Charming. His grandfather.

The very man who is currently sitting across from his grandson wearing a shirt of the same kind.

Beside Henry is a blur of red and blue, blonde hair and brown boots, a garish mash of colors that can only belong to the town's sheriff. And across from the sheriff is an indistinct figure in light, fluffy pink, a nauseating hue that causes Regina's lip to curl involuntarily.

The Charming family, reunited at last.

Studiously ignoring the other three people at the table, Regina focuses solely on her son. Her dark eyes watch him with a hunger she would never show in the light of day. Her baby, her little boy. Not so little anymore, but still hers.

Or at least he _was_ hers...

And she's tried, she's tried so hard. Yes, she's had moments of connection, moments where her son will meet her eyes or ask her a question, or even give her a small smile. Brief moments of sunshine in her otherwise grey life. Because it seems that as soon as a Charming appears, any one of them, her son is gone. He slips from her grasp as if he never truly belonged to her.

And perhaps he never did. There is no blood to bind them. Only years of shared mealtimes. Of changing diapers and bandaging scraped knees. Of holidays and bed times and homework. Clearly it isn't enough. It will never be enough.

For a moment her gaze strays over her son's head to his birth mother. The sheriff is telling a story. Her hands dance broadly enough for Regina to see the gestures through the condensation on the window, and Regina feels a mix of emotions rise in her chest. Frustration and irritation. A tiny, undesirable flash of affection that is quickly squashed by the sense of unfairness, of hurt and anger.

For Emma Swan has won what Regina has lost: Henry. Snow White. A loving father.

Happiness.

If circumstances were different they could have been allies. Both headstrong, she has no doubt that they would both fight to the death to save their son. Except that Emma was the one who had done the saving, while Regina had inadvertently done the poisoning. The lying. The hurting.

The memory stings.

A stray gust of wind picks up some of the tiny ice crystals and whips them into her face, cold and rough on her cheeks. She barely notices.

As she stands in the dirty snow, shivering and alone, she can hear the muffled sound of joyful laughter floating on the winter wind. The Charming family. After twenty-eight years where the only happiness Regina had permitted was her own, the sound now rings painfully in her ears. It echoes in her hollow chest, smothering her heart.

She finds these recent changes alarming, completely out of her control. And she knows that she has lost. Nothing will bring back the way things were. Nothing will bring back her son.

Her mind made up, Regina nods faintly under the stars. She takes one last lingering look at Henry, a blur of blue and white and brown, and then squares her shoulders. She strides carefully through the dark streets, puffs of condensation from her breath trailing behind her to glint in the starlight.

She bypasses her front door and heads straight to the garage where her black Mercedes is waiting. It takes three turns of the key before the engine finally hums to life. The cold of the steering wheel seeps through her leather gloves and she cranks the heat up as high as it will go, as if the engine could somehow warm her frozen soul.

She puts the car in gear and gingerly eases out of the garage, into her snowy driveway. The tires spin momentarily before catching and then she's moving forward, out into the street. She takes a left, her black car prowling quietly through the dark night.

As she drives she finds her mind wandering, thinking back over the past weeks and months.

She thinks of Henry's death and his miraculous, magical return to life. She remembers the empty, panicked feeling when she'd realized that her magic had not returned, and she remembers the moment Emma Swan had laid a hand on her arm, the magic flowing warm and easy between them.

As she remembers this moment, as her thoughts rest on the blonde sheriff, a familiar, aching feeling fills her chest. She thinks of what might have been. What never could have been.

She drives faster, her tires crunching softly on the packed, dirty snow.

She thinks then of Emma and Snow White, lost to another land, her problem neatly solved. And yet not solved, for her son had blamed her for their disappearance and demanded that she get them back. Which she had done, absorbing the magic designed to kill anyone coming through the portal. And what had she gotten for her trouble?

A simple thank-you. And then the cold shoulder as her son had turned his back on her, drawn away with the Charmings. Leaving her behind, yet again, without a thought.

Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

On the seat beside her is a map, yellow highlighting marking a route and a destination. A piece of paper with the address of a previously unseen apartment. A bank account number. A thick stack of twenty dollar bills, neatly folded. And a sealed envelope with a list of instructions, written to herself.

She smiles faintly. The pain will soon be over. She will be able to start fresh. No magic. No thoughts of Daniel, dead twice now, once by her mother's hand and once by her own. No curse, no_ evil queen_, no Henry and certainly no Emma Swan. She will be born anew.

Her headlights flash on a sign, glaringly bright in the dark night.

_Leaving Storybrooke._

xxx

Emma is rifling through an assorted pile of papers when Henry comes bursting into her office. While her father – David, James, or whoever the heck he is – had taken on the title of sheriff in her absence, his focus had clearly been elsewhere. Her office is a mess, which is nothing new, but this time it's a mess not of her own making. She can't find the keys to the cruiser, and she's accumulating a rather alarming stack of unanswered phone messages and requests for assistance.

She sighs at the discovery another unfiled report. Her son's interruption is timely, and very welcome.

The smile, her natural reaction to the sight of her son, falters as she takes in the panicked look on his face. He's gulping for breath, leaning heavily on the door frame, cheeks pink and dark hair mussed.

"Henry, what's wrong?" She rises from her chair, the paperwork falling forgotten to the desk.

"Emma!" he pants. "Emma, have you seen my mom?"

"Sure kid. Yesterday, or the day before. Or... sometime." She frowns. When _was_ the last time she had seen Regina? "Why do you ask?"

"Because," Henry's face falls. "She's gone."


	2. Chapter 2

The coffee is bad, the day-old muffin even worse, but Emma is barely aware of their inadequacies. She is hunched over a computer screen, left hand absently holding a mug of cold coffee, right hand on the mouse as she scrolls through page after page of names.

The internet cafe is crowded, the air heavy with the smell of damp bodies and too much bitter coffee. But time on the computers is cheap and the tattooed guy working the counter hasn't minded her sitting here, three days in a row now, monopolizing one of his machines. She keeps paying, after all.

It shouldn't be this hard to find a person, at least not for someone with Emma's background, but she recognizes that she's dealing with a woman who not only doesn't want to be found, but who has also proven herself time after time to be both resourceful and frighteningly intelligent.

Regina has disappeared, as if into thin air.

Five days ago she had followed Henry back to the mayor's mansion only to find a cold, empty house. The heat was turned down, the pantry and fridge empty. The remaining clothing in the upstairs closet was neatly organized but the dresser drawers were bare. The Mercedes was gone, leaving behind only a faint set of tire tracks that disappeared at the road.

Henry's desperate pleas for her to find his mother were inevitable, as was the ensuing blow out with her parents. David and Mary Margaret were firmly of the opinion that if Regina Mills had left town then it was for the better, and it was clearly a calculated choice on the part of the former mayor and so-called _Evil Queen_. Emma was to stay in town, to be a public figure for the townsfolk and a mother to Henry. She was not to go on a wild goose chase after her parent's greatest enemy.

Emma left anyways, early on a Tuesday morning, following a trail already at least a week old.

She found the Mercedes, sold for cash to a used car dealer in the small coastal town of Hampton. Fifty bucks loosened the tongue of the salesman who had bought the car, a large man with a receding hairline whose interest had waned once he realized that she wasn't actually interested in purchasing the vehicle.

He didn't have much information to give her, but it was enough to keep her moving. He told her that the woman who had sold him the vehicle had seemed flustered, maybe a little confused. She had taken the cash and hopped on a bus heading south. He figured she was running from something, a bad relationship maybe. There was no name on the paperwork, just a scrawling signature that could have been anything.

And so Emma had headed south, backtracking the route she had taken over a year before when she had first turned her ratty old car towards Storybrooke with the intention of returning her runaway son.

Now she's sitting in an internet cafe in Boston, cold winter rain pounding the streets outside, eating a stale muffin and searching. Still searching.

She brings the coffee absently to her mouth and takes a sip. The bitter taste finally breaks through her concentration and she sets the mug down with a frown. Pushing back from the computer screen, she winces at the stiffness in her neck and back. She needs to clear her head. She needs some real food.

She shrugs into her damp winter coat and tugs a floppy black hat low over her ears. Tossing an absent wave at the guy behind the counter, she slips out of the cafe and into the crowded streets. She has no umbrella, still, despite her resolve to buy one each time she steps outside, and so she ducks from covered doorway to covered doorway, trying to avoid the stinging rain.

Within minutes her jeans are damp and her nose is cold, but she she's holding two chili dogs in one hand and a hot chocolate in the other and just like that the world feels a little better. She huddles under an awning outside a florist shop and licks the warm chili from her fingers, pleased with this small indulgence.

As she eats she allows her mind to wander.

She remembers the first time she met Henry, in a small apartment on the far side of this large, sprawling city. She thinks of the land that she and her mother were trapped in, on the other side of a hat. She thinks of Cora, which of course makes her think of Regina, which then makes her think of Henry's book of fairy tales.

And then something is nagging at the back of her brain. She's missed something. She's sure of it.

She strides back to the internet cafe, frowning absently as the hot chocolate splashes out of her cup but not slowing her pace. Her mind is already a number of steps ahead of her body.

Inside the cafe someone has filled the space she previously occupied and no other computers are free. She bounces impatiently from foot to foot, wet socks squishing unpleasantly in her boots, fingers drumming on her thigh.

When a computer becomes available she tosses a twenty dollar bill at the guy behind the counter and dashes to the seat. Take-out cup of chocolate cooling forgotten beside her, she retrieves the list of recent employment records from the states of Maine, Massachusetts and Vermont. These lists are government property and weren't exactly obtained through legal channels, and she's lucky that she still has her sources. Privacy means nothing, really. Anything can be bought for the right price.

She knows she's missed something. The memory of a name tickles the back of her mind. Something hidden in plain sight, something she overlooked before. And to her surprise, there it is.

A Ms. Regina Daniels began work at Rose's Diner the week previous. Her details are benign, common. Female, age thirty-five, not married. Nothing unusual, nothing out of place, nothing that would cause anyone to look twice.

Emma hadn't given any thought to the name the first time she had seen it, and in fact had passed over the name Regina dozens of times. Health care claims. Speeding tickets. Employment records, housing records, even death records. She had been looking for something else, a riddle to solve perhaps, not a name hidden in plain sight.

A quick search in Google Maps shows that Rose's Diner is not only in Boston, but in is actuality only a few blocks away from her current location. So close, the whole time.

Emma laughs out loud.

Outside the rain has died down to a drizzle, a damp coldness that seeps down the back of her neck and gathers on her eyelashes. So much rain. Emma hates this weather, hates the damp and the cold. She stuffs her hands in her coat pockets and ducks her head, blinking to clear her vision. Dusk is falling and the streets are busy, men and women making their way home on a dreary January afternoon.

It feels like the perfect time to visit a diner.

Inside the restaurant it is blissfully warm. The gentle smells of soup and cooking onions waft from the kitchen in the back. Emma is seated in a corner, crammed against the wall, for the diner is clearly a popular spot. The hot dogs from an hour ago didn't really fill her belly and she so orders a bowl soup.

When it comes, Emma is greeted with a chunky homemade chicken soup and a crusty dinner roll. Inhaling deeply, appreciating the enticing aroma of the meal, she almost forgets her purpose. But before the waitress can slip away she inquires as casually as possible about the _new girl _ – don't they have a new waitress? Someone named Regina?

The waitress, whose name tag reads 'Beth', eyes her carefully. "Regina said she was new in town, that she didn't have any friends," she says carefully.

"Of course she has friends. Everyone has friends." Emma smiles her most endearing smile. She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and propping her chin on her fists. It's a harmless pose, a suggestion of one girlfriend talking to another. It's worked for her in the past, and luckily it works again tonight.

"Yeah, she's a sweet girl," Beth allows with a smile. "She works mornings, breakfast through lunch. Kind of slow, but sweet as pie."

For a moment Emma wonders if she has the wrong Regina, for the words 'sweet' and 'slow' would be among the last ones she would ever associate with the woman who has been raising her son. But no, her gut tells her this is right, and she's learned to trust that feeling.

"Thanks." She smiles again, then gestures at her soup. "This smells amazing. Can't wait to try it."

The waitress, Beth, takes the hint, and moves on to another table. Emma scoops a spoonful of soup into her mouth. It's hot, scalding her tongue, but oh so worth it. She moans softly in appreciation.

Breakfast tomorrow. That will work.

xxx

The tiny motel room has a cramped shower, limited hot water, and no hair dryer. Emma pulls her wet hair back into a pony tail and tugs her hat over her ears. She remembers to snag her fuzzy mittens on the way out door.

It's a brisk eight block walk to the diner. The temperature has dipped again, hovering somewhere around freezing, but the weak winter sun is trying to peak through the grey clouds.

Emma feels like that sun, tentatively optimistic, hopeful that she'll find Regina this morning, say some words to convince her that her son misses her and needs her, and have them both back in Storybrooke by mid-afternoon. It's a bit of a loose plan, but Emma figures she'll work it out in the moment.

Inside the diner she settles into the same corner seat that she had the night before. The sun is streaming in through the window, illuminating the lazy dust motes floating aimlessly about, and for the first time in days Emma feels warm.

She tucks her hat and mitts into her jacket pocket and glances around the diner. There is no sign of the object of her search and so she flips open the menu, taking a few minutes to peruse the options. She might as well have breakfast before they leave.

A waitress appears at her elbow, bright and cheerful, her smile sparkling in the morning sun. Emma orders a breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast, then shuts the menu and hands it back to the woman. She meets the waitress's eyes and immediately her breath catches in her throat.

It's Regina.

And yet it's not. Her hair has been woven back in a tidy French braid. Her face is free of makeup and she looks years younger. Dark eyes sparkle above a soft, genuine smile framing perfectly white teeth.

But there is no recognition in that face. Just a waitress smiling at a customer.

Before she can stop herself Emma blurts out a name. "Regina?"

The other woman's face closes, followed by a fleeting look of hard suspicion that momentarily twists her features into something eerily familiar. But almost immediately the look fades into one of innocent confusion.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" The words are tentative, a little afraid, her voice higher-pitched than the guttural, hard tones that Emma is used to hearing from this woman.

And Emma realizes that she has miscalculated. Yes, she knows what happened to Sneezy, the dwarf who had crossed the town line and returned as the pharmacist, no memories left other than those granted by the curse.

But this was Regina's curse. She wasn't a victim, she was the caster. Since the woman had retained her memories of both lands, Emma had figured that she would retain them outside the town line as well. But apparently that is not the case. And in a crashing realization Emma finally understands.

Regina had meant to lose her memories.

She had meant to lose the pain. To cut her losses and start fresh. Very fresh. She's not just running away from Storybrooke, she's running from her whole life.

Emma has waited a moment too long to respond and the dark-haired woman is now starting to back away from her in suspicion. _Crap_.

She pulls out her best innocent act, one that she hasn't had much use for lately. She smiles, slouching down in her chair a little to make herself less threatening. Tips her chin down and blinks up at the waitress, pasting an apologetic smile on her face.

"Oh, no," she says as cheerfully as she can under the circumstances. "I was just chatting with Beth last night, that's all." She pulls the waitress's name from her memory. "She said someone new had started. She said you were sweet, and a good waitress."

She's stretching the truth, but her words seem to have the desired effect and the other woman's face softens again.

"Oh, alright then." The words are shaky, soft. The waitress gives her a smile that's not quite as genuine as before and then blurts out, "Enjoy your breakfast!" before turning and fleeing into the back.

Emma watches her go, watches the girlish trot and bobbing French braid, and swears under her breath._ Fuck. _

Her task has just gotten infinitely more challenging.

xxx

Outside the cafe the washed out winter sun hangs low in the sky, casting reflections of white light off the rows upon rows of windows in the surrounding office and residential buildings. The light no longer feels warming, but harsh and sharp. Mocking. A headache springs up behind Emma's eyes.

"Fuck." She says it out loud this time.

Now what?


	3. Chapter 3

Emma rounds a corner, trying find better cel reception in this city of concrete and glass. She raises her voice over the sounds of traffic and people, projecting her words loudly into the phone.

"No, I'm not coming back yet... Yes, I've found her... No, I need a little more time... Henry? Just tell him that I love him, that we both love him... and that we'll be home as soon as we can."

She takes the phone from her ear and punches the End button, cutting off her mother's concerned voice. What to tell Henry indeed.

How do you tell a child that his mother has forgotten him?

xxx

Emma stakes out a spot outside the diner and slouches against the cold brick wall. There is a paper cup of steaming take-out coffee nestled in her mitted hands, and her winter hat is pulled low over her ears.

She waits.

xxx

Emma is so cold and stiff and miserable that she almost loses her quarry. As the dark-haired woman moves past her and off down the street, she pushes awkwardly off the wall and stumbles forward. Three quick, shaky strides bringing her to Regina's side.

"Hey," she says, placing a hand on the other woman's arm.

Regina jerks away, startled, and brings a hand to her chest. There is genuine fear in her large, doe-like eyes.

"Sorry!" Emma exclaims, and then repeats the word for good measure, taking care to soften her voice. "Sorry. I just thought... Look, I'm Emma."

She sticks out her hand, still ensconced in a black, fuzzy mitten. The dark-haired woman considers this for a moment, and then slowly drops her hand from her chest to take Emma's outstretched fingers.

"Regina," she says. The name is tentative in her mouth, as if she's still feeling it out. Which in fact she probably is.

"Listen, I hear you're new in town..." Emma had all morning to plan this moment and has drawn nothing but a big blank. So she's winging it, as best she can.

Emma smiles and continues, aiming for relaxed and casual. "And, well, I've been gone from Boston for a little while but I'm back now and I still know my way around pretty well. Do you maybe, I dunno, want a tour... or something?"

The dark-haired woman cocks her head, gentle confusion drawing her brows together in a somewhat adorable crease. Her hair shines in winter sun, the few wisps that have escaped the tight braid fluttering around her face in the erratic breeze.

When she speaks her words are uncertain and delivered with a sheepish smile. "You're not hitting on me, are you?"

Emma feels her eyebrows shoot up. "What? No!" she exclaims. "No."

Regina looks down at her boots, shiny and black, before meeting Emma's eyes and smiling shyly. "It's just that, well, some things have happened to me recently..."

Emma nods, trying to be encouraging. She stuffs her hands in her pockets and waits, doing her best to appear open and friendly.

"Well, I'm just not sure of things at the moment. Of anything, actually."

Emma smiles, extracts a hand from her pocked to raise mitted hand in a universal gesture of goodwill. "Just friends, I promise," she states.

The smile that she gets in return is blinding and she's shocked to feel her heart jump, a loud, hard thump somewhere deep in her chest. One heartbeat, then another, and then the dark head is nodding and Emma releases a long breath that she hadn't even realized she'd been holding.

"Okay," Regina agrees. "Sure. Sounds like fun."

The words are so innocent, so unlike the woman Emma had grown to know, to grudgingly respect, that they twist painfully in her chest. She smiles as best she can, turning away to hide the bitter curl she can feel tugging down on the corners of her mouth. Instead she waves to the city around them.

"Now?" she asks.

"Now," Regina agrees.

xxx

Three hours later they're in a cozy little coffee shop. Emma is nursing a cappuccino while Regina blows carefully on a cup of herbal tea. The dark-haired woman's cheeks are flushed after hours out in the cold, lips bright red and a little chapped. She's gazing into her tea, seemingly lost in thought.

Slender fingers toy with a packet of sugar, twisting it round and round on the tabletop.

"Are you going to use that?" Emma asks.

"What?" Dark eyes snap up to meet Emma's own.

The lost look in the other woman's eyes tugs at something in Emma's chest and she reaches out a single finger to poke the sugar. "The sugar. Do you take sugar in your tea?"

"No." Regina's gaze flicks around, from tea to sugar, back to tea, and then finally to land on Emma's face. "Actually, I don't know. Things have been a little... hazy... recently."

"S'okay." Emma retrieves the sugar packet and drops it back into the bowl in the center of the table. "It's not good for you anyways."

Regina smiles, a full-fledged smile that lights up her face and there's that funny, warm tingling in Emma's chest again. This new Regina is beautiful and pure in a way makes Emma want to protect her, to shield her from all the evil in the world.

Which is preposterous really, because hadn't this woman been the cause of so much evil?

And yet it's as if that badness has all been drained away. Emma's not sure if the woman in front of her is simply a manifestation of the curse, flat and one-dimensional, or if this is the true Regina, untainted and undamaged.

Oddly enough she has the sudden, desperate urge to find out.

The corners of Regina's eyes crinkle and Emma finds herself lost in their inky darkness. Abruptly the other woman looks away, back down at her tea, and Emma clears her throat.

"So, have you been to Fenway Park yet?" she asks.

The other woman shakes her dark head in the negative and Emma smiles. "What are you up to this weekend?"

xxx

It turns out that Fenway Park is closed, apart from the little store selling off-season Red Sox jerseys, and so Saturday afternoon finds them down by the water instead.

Earlier this morning Emma had moved out of the tiny motel room and into a boarding house to save some cash. The bathroom is shared, but at least it's clean, and her room is quaint and cozy.

She had also checked her bank account this morning and was relieved to find that apparently her automatically deposited paychecks are still flowing, even though she hasn't been to work in over ten days. She supposes that no one is overseeing the town coffers at the moment, which works out well for her as she's pretty much used up all of her savings on a crappy motel room, bad coffee, and illegally obtained information.

She figures she's owed vacation time anyways.

While the town of Storybrooke may have been the manifestation of a curse, it seems that the money is real and she had spent a few minutes pondering the fine line between fiction and reality before giving it up as a lost cause. Once Regina gets her memories back, _if_ she gets her memories back, Emma will ask her to explain.

She had then met up with Regina after the woman's shift at the diner. The past several hours have been spent exploring Faneuil Hall, the old historical marketplace down by the waterfront. The crowds are seasonally sparse and Emma has been following the dark-haired woman around as Regina wanders wide-eyed, child-like, from tiny store to tiny store, fingering clothing, running her hands along the spines of books, picking up toys, smelling fragrances.

Emma has watched all of this with amused fascination, intervening only to lightly grasp the other woman's arm to guide her around one obstacle or another. For the moment she finds herself content, ambling away a stress-free Saturday afternoon, vaguely intrigued by this Regina who is more like Henry and very much unlike the abrasive mayor she had come to know back in Storybrooke.

Now, having exhausted all of the nooks and crannies of the hall, they are moving towards a large set of exit doors. Emma suddenly notices that she is alone and turns to find Regina several steps behind her, paused in front of a candy shop. Dark eyes run in wonder over the hanging bags of cotton candy and popcorn, over the rows upon rows of candies and sweets.

Backtracking to the woman's side, Emma gives in to her whimsical mood and offers, "Why don't you get something?"

"Hm?" The dark-haired woman jumps, as if she's forgotten that Emma was there. And indeed perhaps she had. Emma has noted that this new Regina is startled much more easily. She seems to be a bit of a dreamer, often lost in thought. Or perhaps lost in search of memories?

"You should get something. Come on, I'll even buy it for you." Emma draws the dark-haired woman deeper into the store, absently noting the feel of the soft wool coat under her fingers. "What would you like?"

Regina pulls back, shaking her head. "I wouldn't know what to get," she admits softly.

"I'll pick something for you then."

Emma doesn't give her time to argue, just considers for a moment before selecting a cherry lollypop. She figures that's a safe choice – how can you go wrong with a cherry lollypop? And this one is large, almost two inches in diameter, swirled with red and white, in a pretty cellophane wrapper with a shiny red ribbon.

It looks appealing even to her.

She places it down on the counter and hands the bored clerk a twenty dollar bill. Stuffing her change in her pocket, she turns to Regina and hands her the treat only to be met with moist eyes and a trembling smile.

"Um..." She doesn't know what to say. This woman's moods are a complete mystery to her, and she's never been one to have much patience for emotional women. She feels her good mood fall away, the weight of responsibility settling once again on her shoulders. Her stomach churns as she finds herself wishing desperately that she knew how to trade this shy, awkward Regina for the brash and strong woman of before. She'll even take the abrasiveness, the manipulation. Anything but tears.

Damn her promise to Henry.

Regina gives her a wobbly smile, rubs first her nose and then her eyes with the back of her hand, and shrugs sheepishly. "That's just so nice of you," she whispers in explanation.

"Here." Emma hands her the lollipop and turns abruptly away. This woman isn't much more than a confused child and Emma stifles a sigh of frustration. How on Earth is she supposed fix this?

There is a moment of silence, then Emma hears a rustling noise and half-turns to keep an eye on her charge. The other woman has untied the ribbon and is sliding the wrapping off the lollypop. From the corner of her eye Emma watches as strong fingers crumple the cellophane into a tiny ball.

An image flashes before her, the gruesome reality of those same fingers ruthlessly crushing a human heart, and she shudders.

She suddenly wonder just what exactly she's trying to do here. Maybe her parents are right. Maybe it's best to just let Regina get on with her life. For why would she want to bring back a monster?

Emma worries her lower lip between her teeth, desperately thinking.

Her eyes snap back to other woman as a tentative tongue comes out to swipe delicately at the pink and white treat. Emma watches as Regina's eyes widen in sudden appreciation or the sweet taste. The pink tongue curls around the lollypop again, this time with more confidence.

It's unexpectedly sensual and Emma feels her pulse picking up in response.

Then dark eyes meet hers over the top of the treat, sparkling with delight and a hint of mischief, and Emma's breath catches in her throat. If nothing else, this woman-child is breathtakingly beautiful, and Emma is dismayed to find herself responding to that.

Damn her promise to Henry.

She clears her throat and looks down at the scuffed tips of her boots. "Come on, let's get out of here," she mumbles to her feet. She turns and strides to a pair of big double-doors, suddenly desperate to be out in the fresh air.

Outside, long strides carry her away from the hall, down towards the ocean. Reaching the edge of the pier, her footsteps slow as she stuffs her hands in her pockets and casts her gaze out over the water. She feels the darker woman come up to her side, shoulder lightly brushing against hers, but she purposefully doesn't look over.

The grey sky is casting a dark hue on brick and concrete and wood. The ocean is cold and still, the air heavy with moisture and the smell of salt. The clouds are spitting little drops that could be classified somewhere between rain and snow.

Emma's breath forms puffs of condensation in the cold, damp air as her eyes land on a seagull strutting on the dock. She clears her mind and takes a deep breath, and then another.

She has to stay. She has to fix this, somehow. Henry needs both his mothers. And after all, isn't she suppose to be _the savior_? Who needs saving more than the _evil queen_?

New resolve firmly in place, she turns towards the woman standing at her shoulder. She's about to suggest their next activity, maybe finding somewhere warm for a bite to eat, when the sparkling brown eyes meet hers once again. That damned pick tongue curls out to swipe another lick of the lollypop and Emma feels her heart rate pick up again.

Why had she bought that damned lollypop again?

_Fuck._


	4. Chapter 4

It's Sunday afternoon and the bar is quiet, just a couple of men playing pool and the two women seated at the bar. Emma is most of the way through a beer while Regina nurses the glass of red wine that Emma had insisted she order.

"You'll like it," the blonde had promised, and to her surprise Regina had found that she does like it, she likes it very much.

Regina takes another sip and ponders the woman sitting beside her. They've become friends fast, almost too fast, but then what does she know? Her life is oddly disjointed. She knows how to lace her boots and how to serve a cup of coffee, but she has no memory of learning these things. No memories prior to that dark, cold night when she had suddenly found herself driving along an empty, winding highway.

She'd sold the car as soon as she could. The fact that she could operate it without thinking had scared her. She could name the parts of the car, could turn it on and press the gas pedal, and was eerily aware of how easy it would be to simply step down on the gas, jerk the steering wheel to the right and be done with life altogether.

But the directions that she'd been given had told her to keep moving, and so she did. She'd sold the car and hopped on a bus, watched the unfamiliar landscape flash past the windows. Or was it supposed to be familiar landscape? Had she passed this way hundreds of times before? She had no way of knowing.

So maybe it's normal for her to make friends fast. The only other woman that she could call a friend, that she remembers at least, is Beth, the waitress from the diner. Their shifts overlap for two hours over the lunch period and in slower moments sometimes they take a break to chat. Or mostly Beth chats, while Regina listens. Because what would Regina have to chat about anyways?

But Beth is a single mom with three school-aged kids and so they never see each other outside of work. And apart from Beth and her customers at the diner, Emma is the really the only one she speaks to.

Emma hasn't asked about her past yet and for that Regina is pathetically grateful. In fact the blonde seems to simply take her at face value, just seems to want to spend time together, and Regina is surprised to find herself wanting that too.

She's starting to accumulate memories now, a tidy row of days lined up behind her that provide a comfort, something for her to revisit at night, a sense of familiarity when she walks down the street. She's beginning to feel more grounded, more safe.

Beth had asked about her past when she'd first started working at the diner. The fumbling words that she was unable to use brought a look of pity to the other waitress's face and Regina knows that Beth assumes she's running from something, from an abusive relationship or bad situation. And perhaps she is. She honestly doesn't know.

But it strikes her suddenly that it's normal for people to ask about others, and so she clears her throat and gives it a try.

"Emma," she tries softly. The blonde is focused on the basketball game showing on the TV behind the bar and for a moment it appears as if she didn't hear Regina say her name. But slowly she pulls her gaze away and as those grey eyes slide over meet Regina's, the darker woman finds an involuntary smile coming to her lips.

The blonde woman is a study in contrasts, Regina knows this much. She's tough, and yet gentle at the same time. She can be attentive and kind one minute, then lost in distant thoughts the next. She walks with purpose and wears clothing like it's just something utilitarian, and yet she has beautiful eyes and beautiful cheekbones and a beautiful smile.

That smile is now playing around the corners of the blonde's lips as her eyes regard Regina curiously. "Hm?" is the only response, and Regina is startled to realize that she's been staring. She feels the blush rising to her cheeks and glances down into her wine before steeling her resolve and asking her question.

"I was just wondering, because I've never asked," she fumbles with the words, but pushes forward. "I mean, what do you do for work?"

"Work?" The other woman looks slightly taken aback and Regina wonders if she asked something wrong. Maybe the other woman is wealthy, maybe she doesn't need to work? Maybe she's in between jobs?

The grey eyes flit away from hers and Regina can see the blonde thinking, debating perhaps. After a moment she answers the question. "I'm in law enforcement. A sheriff, actually."

The sheepish smile that accompanies the statement causes a strange fluttering in Regina's chest. And suddenly she wants to know this woman, wants to really know her.

"Are you working now? Is that why you're in Boston?"

"The opposite, actually," Emma admits. Her fingers slide through the pearled condensation on the outside of her glass."I'm on a... leave of absence, I guess."

"Oh. So... you don't live here?" Regina can feel her heart sinking in her chest, accompanied by a sudden feeling of mild panic. Is this woman going to leave her, now that she's finally found a friend?

"No." The blonde's response is curt, abrupt, and Regina involuntarily drops her gaze back to the deep red of her wine. Sudden tears spring to the back of her eyes and she blinks angrily in an attempt to clear them.

The blonde dips her head and Regina can feel Emma seeking her eyes. She refuses to look up, knowing that her emotions will be evident on her face and feeling abashed at the strength of her unexpected reaction.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, okay?" Emma's words are kind, gentle . The panic lessens and a warm feeling spreads through Regina's chest. How does this other woman always know the right thing to say?

Regina takes a deep breath and looks up again, finding herself falling into deep grey eyes. She nods, simply says, "Okay," and then searches for the next polite question. Tries to move the conversation forward. Because that's what normal people do. Normal people with a past and memories and friends and families.

"Do you have any family?" she asks after a moment. "Back where you're from?"

The question seems to startle the blonde and she picks up a stray cardboard beer coaster, taps it nervously on the counter. It takes a few heartbeats before the answer comes, just enough time for Regina to wonder why this is such a hard question.

"My parents are there," she says at last. Emma seems to stumble on the words a little, and with a sudden flash of insight Regina realizes that, while they have walked different paths, this woman's past is just as difficult as her own lack of one.

She's so delighted by this sudden revelation that she almost misses what the blonde says next.

"...And my son."

"You have a son?" Regina gasps, startled. She thinks of Beth and her three children, thinks of how the waitress rushes home to pick them up from the sitter's, and she blurts out the words without thinking. "Why did you leave him?"

The grey eyes darken for a moment, grow stormy and cold, and Regina regrets the question. But then the blonde's expression lightens again and she shrugs.

"I'm here at his request, actually." She holds up a hand. "Don't ask," she states, and Regina nods solemnly.

"I only found out about him a little over a year ago, because I gave him up for adoption, and right now he's with my parents. That's where he needs to be... For the moment at least."

Regina can sense that there's a story underneath but, somehow, she knows not to pry. She reaches out a tentative hand. The blonde stiffens slightly when she brushes her forearm, but she squeezes gently and the other woman relaxes and gives her a small smile.

The dark-haired woman nods, pleased with herself for finally reading a situation correctly, and then makes a point of changing the subject.

"Do you want another beer?" she asks as lightly as she can, pointing at Emma's mostly empty glass.

The blonde considers for a moment, and then shrugs. "Sure, sounds good."

Emma, the sheriff, mother to a little boy, stands to wave the bartender over from where he's wiping down tables. Regina feels the funny tightening in her chest again.

_Is this affection?_ she wonders.


	5. Chapter 5

They haven't exchanged phone numbers, haven't exchanged email addresses or street addresses or any way of getting in touch, and this only occurs to Regina as strange when she suddenly feels the urgent need to speak to her blonde friend and realizes that she has no way to reach her.

Some mornings Emma will wander into the diner and order breakfast, or lunch, and toss out a casual invitation to meet along with a time and a place. Or more often Regina will find her at the end of her shift, leaning cold and stiff against the brick wall outside the diner, simply waiting.

So when something happens that strikes Regina as odd, and uncomfortable, and she wants to reach out to her friend, she discovers that she actually has no way to do so.

It's mid-morning, always a slow time in the diner, and Regina is using the time for a quick break.

There had been suitcases in the back of the car which the nice salesman had retrieved for her when she'd sold it. She'd stuck them on the bus, and then hauled them, awkwardly, to the address listed on the piece of paper that had been one of the first things she'd seen on that dark night.

The suitcases had contained clothes, all sized to fit her perfectly, all in excellent or even brand new condition. After she'd been hired at the diner, she'd quickly realized that the footwear provided in those suitcases was not suitable. And so she'd gone out and bought new shoes.

While the running shoes had been the most comfortable, the sales clerk had taken one look at her attire and had quickly steered her to some simple black boots, flat, and while these boots are more comfortable for her to work in than the spiky-heeled shoes in her suitcase, she still finds that her feet get sore.

In fact, when she leaves her shift she's usually exhausted, but on those days that she finds Emma standing outside waiting for her the exhaustion quickly flees, replaced by a strange buzzing sort of energy that drives her to walk miles at the blonde woman's side, to explore shops and museums and art galleries, to drink tea and red wine and forget to eat until it's late at night and her stomach is protesting loudly.

She doesn't know if she's seeing Emma today, and her thoughts drift to the blonde woman as she sits on one of the stools at the diner's little counter and sips slowly at a glass of Sprite. She tucks a loose wisp of hair behind her ear, for it never seems to stay contained despite her careful braiding each morning, and runs her fingers idly along a crack in the formica countertop.

It would be nice to see Emma today, she concedes. She sees the blonde almost every day, even her days off where plans are agreed upon in advance, and every day it feels like their friendship grows stronger. A familiar flash of what she's decided must be affection rises from her belly and she sips her drink happily, wondering what adventure they'll wind up on next.

When she feels eyes on her she glances up, wondering if it's her blonde friend.

It's not.

There is a man standing across the room, having just stepped in from the street, and the door shuts gently behind him with a quiet ding of the bell taped to the door frame. The man is slender, with a narrow face, dark hair and a rakish beard, but what catches Regina's immediately are his eyes. His pale blue eyes are hard and intense, and focused directly on her.

He strides forward, coming straight at her, and Regina instinctively draws back on her stool. He stops close, almost too close, and tips his head down to look at her intently. He's handsome and well-groomed, but something about him unnerves her.

And then he speaks her name. "Regina."

It's an acknowledgement, not a question, and there is something in his eyes, a recognition of sorts and it strikes Regina suddenly that this man must know her. Emma had looked at her this way at first too, but of course that's preposterous. If Emma knew who she was she would have said something, Regina has no doubt of that. She trusts her blonde friend.

But this man she doesn't trust.

He studies her for a moment, assessing her, and she does her best to straighten under his scrutiny. And then suddenly he laughs, tips his head back and guffaws, loud and amused, and just like that he is transformed. Now loose and confident in his movements, he slides onto the stool beside her.

"So, what's good to eat in this place?" he asks, a wide, charming grin curling the corners of his mouth. She smiles back tentatively in return.

"Well," Regina speaks as carefully as she can, "I'm just on my break, but if you want I can get someone to bring you a menu..."

He interrupts her with a shake of his head. "I want _you_ as my waitress, love," he grins again, then winks at her. "I can wait. I _will_ wait," he insists, and while his tone is light there is still something slightly... hard... about his words, along with a faint accent that she can't quite place.

"Okay then," she tells him uncertainly. "You just... wait right here. I'll be right back."

This is the moment Regina realizes that she needs her friend. She needs Emma's solid safety, and the woman is a sheriff no less. Emma would know what's going on, but Regina has no way to reach her.

Nervous, and very much on her own, she slips back to the man's side, menu in hand. But now the stranger is calm, relaxed and friendly and charming, and it doesn't take long for him to have her laughing shyly at an outrageous story about a boat and a pile of drunken men.

She seats him at a table by the window where he orders first a sandwich, and then a piece of pie, and then a cup of coffee to finish it all off. The man lingers, right through to the lunch rush by which time Beth has arrived and begins to shoot him disgruntled looks. He's taking up a prime table at a busy time and only nursing the end of a cup of coffee, his blue eyes flitting about the diner in a manner that feels vaguely calculating.

Regina is busy now, too busy to linger by his side, and finally the man stands and gathers his coat. Beth's pointed sigh of relief is not entirely polite but the stranger ignores her, heads straight for Regina instead. She has salads and two bowls of steaming soup balanced on a tray, and hopes fervently that he's not going to make a scene. But he simply touches the fingers of his right hand to his brow in farewell, gives her another wink, and then turns and strides out of the diner.

Beth turns to Regina, smirk firmly planted on her red-painted lips.

"Honey, who was that?" she asks eagerly.

"No one," Regina stammers awkwardly, wondering now that the man is gone if she was simply being paranoid. "I don't know him."

"But he sure wanted to know you!" Beth grins at her pointedly. "Looks like that gorgeous blonde friend of yours has some competition."

Regina feels confused, and oddly exposed. Her face is hot, her cheeks flushed as she ducks away from Beth and rushes to deliver the soup.

An hour and a half later, shift complete, Regina slips out of the diner to find Emma leaning against the wall in her usual pose. After too many complaints about the rain, Regina had finally convinced the blonde to purchase an umbrella and the other woman is holding it now, closed, tapping it idly against her thigh as she waits.

A moment later Emma catches sight of her and pushes off the wall, a warm smile spreading across her face. Regina takes a deep breath of the fresh, cool air and moves towards her friend.

"Anything interesting happen at work today?" Emma asks. It's a normal question, one that she often asks, but Regina feels suddenly awkward. She remembers Beth's insinuations that the odd man was interested in her, and her strange comment about Emma, and she suddenly finds herself wanting to change the subject.

"No, the usual," she says, desperately trying to shake the confusing thoughts from her head. To cover her discomfort she reaches out a gloved hand wraps it around Emma's elbow, drawing the other woman into her side.

This position is a new one. Regina has noticed that the blonde isn't particularly affectionate in nature but there is no protest, just a faint hint of surprise on the other woman's face that fades quickly as they maneuver their way down the damp, crowded street.

Eager to put the whole morning out of her mind, Regina focuses instead on the warmth of the other woman's shoulder and hip pressed against her own, on the sudden feeling of safety and familiarity.

"How about we just walk today?" she offers.

"Sure." Emma nods, then tightens her arm and draws Regina closer into her side as they step around a lamp post. The blonde smiles, and Regina could swear that she can hear a faint humming coming from her friend.

Arm in arm, they drift together into the city of brick and stone.


	6. Chapter 6

The man is back again the next day, and the next. Emma doesn't come into the diner during this time and for some reason Regina is oddly grateful for this. The man smiles, teases her and flirts outrageously with her, and Regina tries to smile back, feeling awkward but finding the man strangely charismatic nonetheless.

He doesn't seem scary anymore, or at least not in the way he had when she had first laid eyes on him, and she wonders if perhaps she was imagining things.

Finally, tentatively, she asks his name.

"Killian," he says with a bow, a broad grin on his face. "Killian Jones." Two little dimples light up his cheeks under his scruffy beard and Regina finds herself blushing, yet again.

xxx

Emma strides down the street, speaking angrily into her phone. It's snowing, a full inch already having accumulated on the sidewalk, squeaking and crunching under the heels of her boots. She'd taken the glove off her right hand to dial and, as she holds the phone to her ear, fat wet flakes melt against her unprotected skin.

The chill wind against her bare, wet hand makes her angry. The snow soaking through her boots and blowing into her eyes makes her angry. And most of all, the voice on the other end of the phone is making her angry.

"Mary Margaret. Mom. Snow. Whatever. No, I'm not coming home yet... Yes, but I told you, it's _complicated._ He can't miss me that much... Okay, yes, _you_ can miss me that much, but I can't come home yet. Tell Henry I'm doing what he asked, it's just taking a little longer, that's all."

Emma sighs, agitated, and steps absently around a mother fussing with her two children. She's feeling defensive, not used to having to explain her actions. To anyone. She brings her gloved left hand up to wipe at the snow in her eyes, and then to run under her nose. Her right hand aches, both from the cold and from clenching the phone.

"Yes, I have a plan, of course I have a plan." A long pause. "What do you mean '_what about my job as sheriff_'? Dad can do it, can't he? It won't be any worse than last time... No, I didn't mean anything by that... "

Emma stops on a street corner, waiting for the light to change. She's only two blocks from the diner and she's running late, worried that she might have already missed Regina. She knows where the other woman lives of course, for once she had a name she was able to track her down relatively easily. But Regina doesn't know that she has that information and she'd rather not spook the other woman by showing up on her doorstep.

Not when she finally feels like she's built up some trust between them.

The light changes and Emma chooses that moment to interrupt the well-meant rant on the other end of the phone.

"I've gotta go, sorry. Tell Henry I love him. And, uh, you and... Dad... too..."

Without waiting for a reply she takes the phone from her ear and reaches for the End button with a cold, stiff thumb. Hanging up on her mother is becoming a bit of a habit, but she doesn't spare the time to feel bad about it. Instead she holds down the power button and her phone fades to black.

She's still not sure of her game plan. Yes, Regina is growing to trust her, but now what? Does she drag the woman back to Storybrooke in the hopes that her memories will return once she's back across the town line? She doesn't think that will work since Sneezy is still, for all intents and purposes, just a simple pharmacist.

Could she bank on Henry's love for his mother, since apparently true love can break any curse? She knows that her son loves his adopted mother, but she also knows that his feelings at the moment are conflicted, perhaps not true enough to do the job she knows needs doing.

So what does that leave her? If she tries to explain the truth Regina will surely think she's crazy. It's a tough enough story to take coming from a ten-year-old child. Any adult claiming that they came from a land of fairy tales would surely be labeled insane.

So, for now, she waits. She spends time with Regina, she earns her trust. And, if Emma is being perfectly honest with herself, she would have to admit that she's been enjoying the strange friendship springing up between them. It's like they're living in a little bubble, a carefree, simple place, but Emma is worried as to how long it will be before that bubble finally pops.

This new Regina is sweet and kind, quick to laugh and quick to blush, and just as fast and easy with her affection. As she's grown more comfortable with Emma her confidence has increased until she no longer feels to Emma like a lost child, but more like a gentle, light-spirited woman.

Emma hasn't had many friends in her life and so she treasures the feeling, and she wonders if perhaps, selfishly, she isn't trying hard enough to get the old Regina back.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Emma skids to a stop outside the diner, dismayed to discover that she is indeed late and Regina's shift ended over ten minutes ago. She glances in the window of the restaurant and is startled to see dark eyes grinning back at her through the glass.

A moment later Regina joins her on the sidewalk.

"You're late," the dark-haired woman teases.

"You're still here," Emma counters.

"I was waiting for you," Regina replies wistfully. "I was hoping you'd come."

She gestures around, snow already settling into her dark braid and long eyelashes, and exclaims happily, "It's snowing!"

And just like that Emma feels the annoyance fading, the feelings of frustration and anger disappearing as if they were never there. Her shoulders loosen and she looks around, allowing herself to be caught up in the other woman's wonder.

"Yeah, it sure is," she says softly.

Suddenly she finds herself being pulled into an impulsive hug. Her stomach clenches in anticipation. Dark, damp snow-covered hair brushes her cheek, bringing with it the scent of apples and springtime. A cold nose presses into her neck and Emma feels her heart catch painfully as the breath stops in her throat. _God, this woman..._

A warm puff of breath on her neck sends Emma's heart pulse racing, and then the blonde is pulling away, pushing herself out of the embrace in a mix of embarrassment and confusion. She feels her swollen heart beating hard in her chest and puts a few steps of distance between herself and the object of her confusion. She clears her throat, tries to bring her body back under her control.

Black eyes watch her with a tentative mixture of hope and fear. Emma tosses her shoulders back and returns to Regina's side. If her smile is a little forced, the dark-haired woman doesn't appear to notice. Emma reaches out her hand, safely back in its mitten again, and takes Regina's bare fingers in her own to warm them.

"Come on," she says. "Let's go check out the snow."

xxx

The snow falls thick and heavy on the city and Emma is glad they're on foot and not in a vehicle. They spend some time catching snowflakes and marveling at the white wonder, but within half an hour Emma's clothing is damp and she finds herself beginning to grow cold. The wind is picking up again, whipping the heavy, wet flakes into their eyes.

Emma can see her companion shivering. Regina is marching forward bravely despite the chill that must have seeped into her body as well, and Emma searches for the best way to convince her companion that it's time to get inside, out of the wet and the cold.

But then Regina slows and Emma shortens her stride to fall beside her, and the dark-haired woman looks up at her through shy eyelashes.

"We're right near my apartment," she offers. "Do you want to come in out of the snow?"

Emma nods, relieved. "Yeah, that would be great."

xxx

The apartment is nice, too nice for someone working a waitressing job, and Emma wonders if this naive version of Regina realizes the disconnect. Perhaps she will after a few months of paying rent. Or perhaps not. Perhaps the Regina in Storybrooke had set things up well before leaving.

Not that it will matter really, because Emma doesn't intend on them staying in Boston for months on end. She still needs to figure out how to get them out of this predicament, but at the moment, cold and wet and shivering, finding a solution to Regina's lost memory is the last thing on her mind.

Inside the apartment Regina is shy and a little awkward as she digs through sparse cupboards searching for a kettle. When she finds one she fills it with water and plugs it in. Her eyes slide around Emma as she slips into the bedroom, returning a few minutes later in a pair of soft black yoga pants and a loose sweater.

The sweater is a deep red, soft and expensive, and while Emma had never seen it on the mayor of Storybrooke, it looks like something that would have come from that woman's wardrobe, not one belonging to the simpler woman wearing it now.

Regina has unwoven her habitual French braid and is now shaking loose her dark hair which still clings damply at her temples and at the base of her neck. It's grown since she left Storybrooke, that much Emma can see. Or perhaps it had grown before she had left. Emma realizes now just how little attention she had been paying to Henry's adoptive mother, too busy and caught up in her own little newly found family to really care about the mayor apart from the vague worry of what damage she may or may not have done to their son.

Emma blinks, shaking herself out of her thoughts as she realizes that Regina is holding out a pile of warm, dry clothing. She takes the clothes, nodding in thanks at the gesture, and disappears down a dark hallway in search of the bathroom.

By the time she returns, wearing slightly-too-short pants, a soft t-shirt and a plain, hooded sweatshirt, the water in the kettle has boiled and Regina is standing on her toes, reaching for a pair of mugs. The mugs are up high, on the top shelf, and as she strains to reach them her sweater rides up and Emma finds her eyes sliding to the sliver of soft skin showing above the waistband of the black pants.

She drops her wet clothes on the tile flooring in the kitchen and comes up behind the other woman. Placing a hand on Regina's lower back, just above that sliver of skin, she is momentarily caught by the feeling of muscle moving under the so-soft sweater before she guides the woman away.

She uses her extra little bit of height and longer arm span to snag a pair of mugs from the high shelf. The mugs are plain, white and utilitarian, as are the dishes on the shelves below. No personality, probably pre-furnished before the woman had moved in.

"Why are your mugs so high up?" Emma inquires.

Regina gives her a bashful smile. "I'm not sure," she replies. "That's just how they were when I got here."

_That confirms the fully-furnished theory._

Regina brushes gently past her, leaving a wave of the scent of sweet apples and a tingle in Emma's belly, and throws open another cupboard. With a flourish she presents a large selection of tea.

"What would you like?" The brunette asks with a hint of bashful amusement. "I didn't remember... Didn't know what I liked, so... well, I got some of everything."

And indeed she had. Boxes and boxes of tea. Black teas, herbal teas, roibos teas, white teas. Ginger, lemon, Earl Grey, licorice, vanilla, berry, chamomile, chai.

Emma smiles, amused.

"So which one _do_ you like?" she asks.

"The licorice," Regina replies, matching Emma's smile with one of her own. "And the berry one. The lemon was okay too. But the licorice is sweetest."

"Then licorice it is," Emma states. She's not much of a tea drinker, and as far as she's concerned the sweeter the better.

As the tea steeps in the two mugs Regina moves about the kitchen. Emma is surprised to see that the fridge and pantry are fully stocked. She recalls that Henry had mentioned once or twice that his mom cooked, but, apart from the ill-fated apple turnover, Emma had never witnessed it.

Emma leans against the island in the middle of the kitchen, vaguely feeling the wood digging into her lower back as she watches, impressed, as the brunette moves about the kitchen. Soon a pot of soup, pre-made but definitely home-made, is heating up on the stove, and a pile of sliced veggies is growing on the edge of a cutting board.

Regina's tapered, elegant fingers handle the large knife with precision and skill, and Emma finds herself mesmerized by the flashing knife and the muscles flexing the other woman's forearms. She'd thought she'd known Regina, but she's beginning to realize that she never truly knew her at all.

Within minutes they are seated on a pair of bar stools tucked up against the kitchen island, sipping soup and working their way through a green salad. It's probably the healthiest meal Emma has had in months, but also one of the tastiest.

Fascinated, Emma asks the question without really thinking about it. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

Regina freezes, forkful of greens halfway to her mouth. Her face, previously open and content, closes immediately and Emma wishes she could take the words back.

When Regina replies, her voice is distant. "I don't really remember. A long time ago."

Emma curses silently to herself. Making her voice as light as possible, she brushes over the comment. "Well, this is amazing, thank-you. How did you know I hadn't had lunch?"

This snaps Regina out of her thoughts. Letting her fork drop, she replies, "I didn't." And then a cheeky smile spreads across her face. "But you're always hungry, so it was a safe bet."

Emma really has nothing to say to that so she simply shrugs and, breathing a very quiet sigh of relief, returns to her soup. It really is delicious.


	7. Chapter 7

Regina has an in-suite washer and dryer, again far too high-end for someone on a waitress' salary, but Emma isn't about to complain about this convenience. After their light lunch Regina shakes out their clothing and tosses it in the dryer. Seeing her clothing mixed with Regina's feels oddly intimate and Emma finds herself blushing and looking away as the dark-haired woman sets the cycle and starts the machine.

The leather couch in the living area is small but comfortable and Emma sinks into it with pleasure. Regina settles beside her and, still nursing their mugs of tea, they flip idly through daytime television. It's cozy, warm and safe.

Outside the snow continues to fall.

xxx

Regina's eyes wander over the woman dozing on the couch beside her. It's getting dark, night still falling fast on this evening in early February. Blonde hair spills over the back of the couch, lit intermittently by the flickering light of the television.

She'd given up on watching the TV a while ago, probably around the time her blonde friend had slipped off into a light doze. Grey eyes shut and face relaxed, Emma looks young and peaceful. Regina contemplates the sleeping face, the long limbs splayed on her couch, the socked feet propped on her little oak coffee table.

Her pulse flutters as her eyes linger on her friend's body. She has an almost overwhelming urge to reach out, to feel the warmth of the woman beside her. To run her fingers through the golden hair, to brush perfect cheekbones.

But that would be preposterous, wouldn't it? Regina may not have a lifetime of memories behind her, but she's pretty clear on the fact that it would be a violation of the other woman's trust.

But somehow, perhaps of its own volition, Regina finds her hand creeping out. Slowly, ever so slowly. The fabric of the borrowed sweatshirt on her friend's body is warm and soft under her fingers as she traces the sleeve of the garment. Her fingers pick over a seam, then tighten until she's holding a fistful of the material. Her breathing hitches in her throat.

She wants to be closer. She wants to pull the blonde woman to her, wants to feel the warmth of her skin, the sweetness of her breath.

The feeling is overwhelming, and so impossible at the same time that Regina feels desperate tears sting the back of her eyes. Her eyelashes flutter and a frustrated sigh escapes her mouth.

_I want..._

What does she want?

_I want to be close to her. I want to connect with her. I want to feel her, to touch her. _

_I want her._

Regina's eyes snap open and she forces herself to let go of the bunched fabric in her fist. Pushing backwards, she scrambles clumsily off the couch.

Flustered, and more than a little aroused, she moves to the front window of her apartment. The only light inside comes from the flickering of the television behind her, its quiet drone lost almost entirely as background noise.

Outside the world glows.

After dumping a load of snow the clouds have since moved off, leaving behind a mostly clear sky that is fading fast to a deep, majestic blue. The orange and white lights of the streetlamps and surrounding apartments and businesses cast a glow on the thick blanket of snow.

Down below her the traffic is moving slowly, and Regina can hear the muted noises rising from the street. Vocal sounds of frustration, a honking horn, a man calling out, a child shrieking in excitement or frustration.

Her eyes take in the scene below her, her ears hear the sounds, but none of it registers. Her whole being, her whole soul, is focused on the woman sleeping behind her. If she listens carefully she can hear the soft sound of breathing, and now and then a faint creak of the leather as the woman shifts in her sleep.

Regina watches absently as the color drains from the sky to be replaced with the black of night. The neon _Open_ sign flickers to life on the bar across the street. Gradually her pulse slows, her breathing returns to normal. The sound of the television intrudes on her silence, the evening newscast just beginning.

Taking a deep breath, and then another, Regina turns her back to the window.

The blonde is still sleeping. She's slid down on the couch, slumped such that her head is supported but her bum is about to slip off the cushion. She is surrounded by a cloud of golden hair. The television is casting shadows on her perfect cheekbones.

Regina shakes herself, almost caught in the other woman's spell yet again. She strides across the room and clicks off the TV, then turns on a reading lamp. The room is bathed in a soft, yellow glow.

Sleepy grey eyes blink open to meet her own and a content smile spreads across the blonde's lips. Regina takes a sharp breath as her heart thunders painfully in her chest.

_What is happening to me?_

Regina forces herself to smile back and then turns away, taking a shaky breath as she moves deeper into the apartment, clicking on lights as she goes. The little green indicator is lit up on the dryer informing her that their clothes are ready. Have probably been ready for hours, while she was content to let Emma snuggle on her couch in borrowed clothing.

She scoops the blonde's clothes out of the machine, absently noting the faint warmth that still lingers, and then turns to her friend.

"Fancy heading out for a bite to eat?" she asks. She is pleased that her voice remains steady, calm, giving away none of her inner turmoil.

_Does Emma not sense this? How can she not see how it burns inside my chest? Do I even want her to see?_

Regina finds herself half-hoping that the blonde will decline the invitation. That she'll need to head home, to her apartment or condo or wherever she's living, giving Regina a chance to shake off whatever strange thing is happening to her.

But at the same time the idea of a cold, lonely evening causes Regina's heart to sink, and she holds her breath as she waits for the reply.

Emma stands and stretches, not noticing the dark, hungry eyes that trace her lanky body. She yawns, runs fingers through her tumultuous hair, and then nods.

"Sure. There's a great little Mexican place just a few blocks from here."

Regina breathes out.

xxx

Emma leans back and pats her full tummy. She feels rested and content.

The little restaurant is packed, filled with an eclectic mix of diners and servers, live cacti, and a few too many mismatched tables and chairs. On the walls, strings of Christmas lights mingle with sombrero hats and paintings of desert sunsets. Overall it's cheerful, and a little too loud, and Emma wonders if that's why her dinner companion is so quiet. Or if something else is going on.

She's not sure how to ask without risking shutting the woman down even further.

She had debated, while she lay on the couch this afternoon, warm and content in someone else's clothing, if now would be the right time to broach the subject of Storybrooke. Of their history together, their shared son.

But she'd fallen asleep instead, and now she's glad that she didn't say anything because clearly the other woman already has something on her mind. Dark eyebrows are drawn together over distant eyes, while elegant fingers merely pick the food in front of her.

Their waiter glances over periodically, trying to decide if they're finished, and Emma purposefully ignores him. Regina is toying with a piece of taco shell, rotating it round and round in absent circles, her eyes unfocussed.

Emma leans forward and brushes her fingers across a soft wrist."Penny for your thoughts?" she asks gently.

"Hm?" Dark eyes snap into focus and, strangely, a hint of red flushes the other woman's cheeks.

"Not worth that much, I'm afraid," Regina replies ruefully. Then she straightens up and drops the piece of taco back onto her plate. She half-rises and twists to collect her heavy coat and scarf, draped on the back of her chair. "I'm ready whenever you are."

They argue good-naturedly over the bill, finally agreeing to split the cost of dinner, and then they're out on the street.

"There's not much snow left," Regina sighs, gesturing around them.

And she's right. The sidewalks have been shoveled clear and the streets plowed, leaving behind only dirty piles of snow in the gutters and the occasional drift in an unshoveled doorway.

The dark-haired woman seems deflated somehow, heavier, bundled in a thick coat with her gloved hands stuffed deep in her pockets. Her hair is still down and for a moment Emma sees the Regina she used to know, the mayor weighed down by sadness and anger.

This suddenly feels unacceptable and, without stopping to think she wraps her fingers around the other woman's arm. "Come with me," she says.

xxx

It's a little neighborhood park, tucked away behind rows upon rows of brownstone buildings. Emma remembers it from a time years ago when she'd chased someone here, apprehended him in the middle of the night, marched him to a bank machine and demanded her bonds money back.

That night the park had been dark, deserted and slightly eerie. Tonight however it has a whole different feel.

The snow still lies deep in the open expanses between a few scattered trees. A trio of child-sized footprints cut across the park but for the most part the snow is unblemished, pristine. They step carefully, boots sinking deep into the snow, shoulders brushing with every second step. Apart, together, apart, together.

On the far side of the park a man is throwing snowballs for his dog. The sky is dark, leaving much of their surroundings in shadow, and Emma casts a wary eye around them, always on the lookout for danger. Regina is more carefree, less jaded. She stops walking and laughs in delight as the dog dives headfirst into a pile of snow. He emerges a few moments later, tongue lolling, pants of breath steaming the air around his head. The dog pauses, alert, while his owner packs another snowball. And then he's off again, bounding through the snow.

Regina bends down and gathers a handful of the cold flakes. Emma watches her test the texture, watches her compact it between her fingers. She stands and tosses it in the air, watches it come down in scattered chunks of ice and snow.

Then she's moving again, picking her way carefully through the snow, Emma trailing a few paces behind. The man calls his dog, clips a leash onto his collar. They exit the park through a pack of trees. Emma sees a glint of canine eyes in the dark, looking back longingly at the snow, and then the man and his dog are gone.

In the middle of the park Regina comes to a stop. She tilts her head back, looks up at the night sky. Emma comes to her side and stands quietly for a few moments, studying the perfect profile of the woman beside her.

When Regina speaks it is soft, wondrous. "Orion," she says.

"What?" Emma asks.

"Orion," she repeats. "The constellation."

Emma follows the dark eyes that flit across the night sky. Few stars are visible tonight, but apparently Regina sees something in them nonetheless.

"Ursa Major. Ursa Minor will be coming up over there," Regina points to the scraggly trees where the man and his dog disappeared a few minutes before. "And... the Pleiades..."

As her voice trails off, Emma asks softly, "How do you..."

"I don't know!" Regina snaps suddenly in frustration. Her body tenses, her eyes swing meet Emma's, hollow. Lost. Angry. "I don't know how I know the names of the stars. I don't know how I know to _how_ make tea, but not what kind I like. I don't know when I learned to cook. And I don't know why you feel so-"

Regina snaps her mouth shut abruptly and steps away, fists clenched into balls at her sides.

Emma follows her, reaches out a hand which is immediately batted away. She tries again, moves closer. Strong arms push against her shoulders and chest, trying to drive her away. But she won't let that happen. She can't let that happen.

She wraps the other woman in a hug, holding her close.

For a moment it's like holding a molten volcano, an explosion ready to happen. And then, just as suddenly, the fight drains away leaving behind a lost, crying woman. Emma feels a cold nose bury into her neck, hot tears against the collar of her jacket.

She remembers Henry, their son, at a time when he was sad and confused, when all she could do was hang on. And that's all she can do now. She sways gently, rocking the crying woman in her arms.

Gradually the tears slow. She feels Regina take a few deep, ragged breaths, but her face remains buried in Emma's neck. Emma becomes aware of the warmth of the smaller woman's body. The soft breathing against her neck. Warm hips pressed against hers.

She becomes aware of her own heart beating, hard and erratic in her chest. Of the hard lump suddenly heavy in her throat, choking.

Emma pulls away as gently as she can. Dark, teary eyes rise to meet hers, soft and hopeful.

Emma finds her hands climbing, clenching. Wanting to pull the other woman to her. To lose herself in warm curves. In deep brown eyes and in the smell of apples. In the soft smile and gentle innocence.

Emma swallows hard past the lump in her throat. She takes a deep breath, shakes her head faintly in an attempt to clear it. Under the moonlight, knee deep in the snow, stranger things have been known to happen she's sure. Stranger things than falling in love with her son's adoptive mother, a woman who is no more than a fraction of her former self.

Or is it simply lust? She's not sure, but it can't happen either way. If the real Regina were here, the full Regina, she would have been slapped by now. Laughed at in scorn. For what right does Snow White's daughter have to love the _Evil Queen_?

The panic must show on her face because she sees the dark eyes hesitate, start to cast down and away, and in that moment she reaches out blindly. Brushes the back of a mittened hand along a perfect jaw line. Watches those eyes soften again. Watches the dark head tilt up, red lips begin to part.

_I'm going to kiss her. I'm going to lean down and..._

This woman doesn't even know she cursed an entire land.

Emma thinks of Henry, of her parents waiting impatiently for her back in Storybooke, and she knows that she can't do this.

"We need to get you home." Six quiet words to shatter the spell. And then more words. "You have work in the morning."

It's for the best, right? This is not part of her mission. Get Regina, get home to Storybrooke. She's just become lost somewhere along the way.

Regina steps back, startled by the sudden change. Dark, hurt eyes dart everywhere but Emma's face. Emma watches several heartbeats of rapidly changing emotions before the other woman's jaw clenches and her thin shoulders take on a firm set. Resolute. More like her former self than Emma would ever have dared to imagine.

Regina steps away, begins making her way stiffly out of the park. After a moment Emma trails quietly behind.


	8. Chapter 8

Valentine's Day. Regina doesn't know much about it, but it strikes her as a ridiculous day. The diner has been decked out with pink and red hearts and the daily menu lists specialties such as "Red Heart Chili" and "Sweeter Than Your Valentine Pie".

What is this thing called _love_ supposed to be, anyways? Is love someone who pulls you up to dizzying heights, only to step back and let you fall? Is love someone who escorts you home on a snowy night and then disappears for a whole week?

It's been seven days since the snowfall. Seven full days since she last saw her blonde friend. Seven days of second guessing herself, of wondering what she did wrong. She still doesn't have Emma's phone number, is completely dependent on the blonde to approach her, and she feels lost and helpless. Used. Forgotten about.

And angry.

Over the days as the snow has melted, her heart has hardened.

One week prior, on that snowy afternoon when she had taken Emma's clothing and washed it and dried it, upon presenting the clean clothing Emma had thanked her and donned all of it except for the t-shirt. She had chosen to keep Regina's shirt on instead, and at the time the thought of her garment touching the blonde's skin had made Regina flush with pleasure.

For a week she had held onto the t-shirt Emma had left behind. White, fitted, plain, soft well-worn cotton. Although it had been washed, it had still smelt faintly of the blonde. Of shampoo and deodorant, and something uniquely Emma. And despite herself, Regina found herself pulling on the t-shirt each night at bed time, wanting to have something of her blonde friend close. Even while the other woman was distant.

One week.

This morning Regina had tossed the t-shirt in the trash.

It's nearing the end of her shift and, much to her disgust, Regina can't keep her eyes off the window, hoping for a glimpse of blonde curls. When the bell above the door chimes and she looks up, it's not Emma entering the diner, but Killian. He has a single red rose in his fingers and a glint of mischief in his eyes.

His smooth, "Meet me for dinner tonight, love?," is not as intimidating as it would have been a week ago. Regina tips her chin up and nods. And just like that she has a date for Valentine's.

xxx

It's been a long week. Emma has spent most of it alternating between moping about her room in the boarding house and taking long walks across the city.

Her cel phone has remained off the entire week. Despite the flush of guilt she gets each time she sees the black screen, she still can't manage to turn it on. Can't manage to speak to her parents and Henry, can't manage to admit her failure. Her confusion.

Finally she stuffs the phone under her mattress and leaves it there.

It's been a whole week since she's seen Regina. Since she stood in the snow and made a decision, a decision that may mean that her mission is forfeit. A decision that drives her to walk further and further each day, but always in the opposite direction to the diner.

Now today is Valentine's Day.

Dare she?

Friends celebrate Valentine's Day all the time, she reasons.

And yet she spends well over an hour in the florist shop, debating between the yellow roses and the red ones. Between a simple bouquet of white flowers and something extravagant and showy. The frustrated florist finally leaves her to serve other customers, and by the time she's made her choice she then needs to wait in line for nearly fifteen minutes to pay for them.

When she leaves the little shop with a mixed bouquet of red and white daisies and carnations, she realizes suddenly that she is late. Very late. She runs the three blocks to the diner, flowers jostling madly in her grip. She's missed the end of Regina's shift by almost an hour.

She bursts through the door, the bell tinkling maniacally over her head, and scans the room frantically. Beth catches her eye and shakes her head. Is that a smirk on the waitress' face?

Emma doesn't bother to stick around to find out, just shuts the door firmly behind her with a mad tinkle of the bell and hustles the distance to Regina's apartment. When she skids to a stop outside the brick building she is out of breath and painfully impatient. She presses the buzzer.

There is no answer. She jabs it again, and then two more times in quick succession. Still no response.

At a loss, Emma steps back from the building and looks up. Finds the window the she thinks is Regina's, stares at it in frustrated hopelessness.

Half an hour later she's sitting in Starbucks nursing a hot chocolate. With caramel and sea salt, and double whip-cream. A comfort drink. The armchair she occupies is black leather, smooth and surprisingly comfortable. The flowers rest sadly on a small, round table alongside a handful of drink coasters and a copy of the Boston Globe newspaper.

Thinking has never been Emma's strong suit, she's more of an action girl really, and so after a few minutes of her frustrated thoughts running in circles she scoops up the newspaper and begins to flip through it.

The headlines are normal. Real-world problems, a far cry from magic and evil queens and strange lands that exist behind hats and portals, and Emma loses herself in what she reads. In the familiar words, familiar issues and concerns.

_City counselor accused of taking bribes. Gang-related shooting leaves two in hospital. Dog returns to family after being lost for two years._

When Emma finally puts down the paper the light outside has shifted. Day is moving towards night, and for the first time in a week she feels grounded again.

She leaves her empty cup on the table beside the newspaper, picks up the wilting flowers, and steps out into the growing dusk. There is a strong breeze blowing and Emma flips up the collar of her jacket, grateful at least that the rain has held off. She walks the several blocks back to Regina's apartment and, seizing a sudden stroke of luck, she slips quickly into the apartment building behind another tenant.

Outside Regina's door she takes a deep breath and raises her fist. There are a confusion of emotions swirling in her stomach, and she's not entirely clear on her intentions. But she's here.

She knocks on the door and waits.

When the door opens, the eyes that meet hers light up with a split-second of delight, of pure joy. Emma begins to smile automatically in response, but a mere heartbeat later the joy is replaced by a look of hardness. Of anger.

_Crap._

Emma holds out the flowers, slightly beaten and limp but still fragrant. "Happy Valentine's Day?" she offers.

Regina makes no move to take the flowers. Dark eyes flick from Emma's down to the bouquet, assessing, before rising slowly back to Emma's face.

"No thanks." The words are hard, dismissive. There is a curl of condescension on the red lips, a scornfulness to the other woman's posture that is all too familiar.

And it occurs to Emma in that moment that Regina wasn't born angry and vengeful. Events in her past made her that way, and it seems like history is repeating itself.

Emma lets the flowers drop her side. She takes a step forward, wishing she had more time to think about this new insight. But at the moment she has a more pressing matter at hand.

"Okay, yeah, kind of pathetic I know." She gives the other woman a sheepish smile. "Can we at least talk?"

She starts to move forward, banking on their weeks of friendship, automatically heading inside the apartment. But the dark-haired woman doesn't budge.

Instead Regina's back stiffens. She squares her shoulders, effectively blocking the doorway. "I'm just on my way out."

Belatedly Emma notices what Regina is wearing. A short black dress and spiky high heels that definitely came from the mayor's wardrobe. A short leather jacket, far too light for the weather outside. She has a purse clutched in one hand, while the fingers of her other hand grip the doorframe tightly. She's wearing makeup, a blood red lipstick and too much mascara.

It's a flashback moment for sure.

And yet there is still a vulnerability in the woman's eyes, something that prompts Emma to keep trying.

"No, wait. Where are you going?" she blurts out desperately.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I have a date this evening. Now if you'll excuse me..."

Emma's mouth sags open in shock. Wordlessly she steps out of the way. Her mind is racing. _Date?_ When did that happen?

The apartment door slams behind the dark-haired woman as she shoulders past the blonde. The stiletto sound of Regina's heels echos in the hallway, growing faint as the figure draws further and further away. Emma watches Regina's stiff back with a growing understanding of how badly she's messed up.

From behind, she can't see the tears pooling in the dark eyes or the faint trembling of a heavily painted lower lip.

xxx

For almost a minute Emma stands frozen in the empty hallway.

And then she's running. She doesn't wait for the elevator but pushes into the stairwell instead, the hard soles of her boots hammering the stairs that she takes two at a time. She bursts out of the building onto the sidewalk and looks around frantically.

The rain is finally starting, a slushy precipitation that clings to her hair and eyelashes, but she ignores it. She tosses the flowers dismissively onto the sidewalk, picks a direction and begins to jog. Her boots are slippery on the pavement as she dodges people with growing determination. She's trusting her gut, allowing it to pull her in what she hopes is the right direction.

Then she catches a glimpse of black clothing and dark hair and she skids to a halt. Regina is entering a restaurant, a really nice one at that. The dark-haired woman nods to the busboy holding the door and disappears inside.

Someone bumps Emma's shoulder and she startles, realizing that she is standing in the middle of a busy sidewalk. She drifts off to the side under an awning, stuffs her cold hands deep into her jacket pockets. She worries her lower lip absently between her teeth. Now what?

Regina has made it abundantly clear that she doesn't want to see Emma. Emma has fucked up, she knows that. But now what should she do? And who is this mysterious date tonight? It's only been a week, what can have happened in that short time?

But Emma knows how much can happen in a week and she curses herself silently. She hunches her shoulders against the cold drizzle and slides further into the shadows. She trains her eyes on the front door of the restaurant, watching and waiting for this mysterious date.

xxx

Stepping off the street, Regina tosses her head to dispel any stray drops of rain and nods to the boy holding the door. She slips out of her coat and hands it to him, watching absently as he takes it from her grasp and hangs it on a rack.

What is she doing here? She feels so lost. She thinks of Emma, pathetic flowers in hand a hopeful smile on her face, and she wants to turn around. She wants to run back to her apartment, to beg for an evening of cheap take out or of simply wandering the streets, huddled together under a single umbrella.

She wants to beg Emma to come back, to start hanging around again. She wants to beg for the last week to be forgotten. She wants to beg for forgiveness.

She wants to beg Emma to love her.

But Emma doesn't love her.

Sure, she may feel affection for Regina, but she made it abundantly clear a week ago that Regina's feelings are ridiculous and one-sided. Hadn't Emma said that first day they'd met that she wasn't interested?

A hot flush of embarrassment lights up Regina's cheeks and her mouth hardens. She tosses back her shoulders and strides into the restaurant, ready to meet her date.

She spots Killian easily, but what's odd is that he's sitting at a table set for three. Beside him is a woman, slightly on the older side with perfectly styled hair and carefully applied make-up. They are leaning towards one another, speaking intently.

The older woman's eyes catch sight of her first and the way they light up suggests that she's someone Regina should know. The feeling is uncomfortable, the woman's gaze intense and almost predatory.

Killian glances up a moment later and a strange smile twists his lips. He gestures her forward and, almost of their own volition, her feet draw her to the table.

Killian stands, gives her a half bow and a wink, and then nods to the strange woman. "She's all yours," he informs her.

"Good." The woman pushes her chair back from the table. Regina is rooted to the spot, confusion and her earlier sense of bravado warring with a growing discomfort.

The woman stands, steps delicately around the edge of the table and brushes strong hands down her long, intricate skirts. Half a dozen smooth steps bring her directly into Regina's space. She's reaching forward, and then cool, rough fingers brush Regina's cheek in a gesture that falls somewhere between affection and ownership.

Regina's head jerks back, her eyes flashing at the sudden invasion. "What do you want from me?" she demands.

"Regina dear," the woman speaks, her voice low but firm. "I'm your mother."

xxx

Enough waiting.

It's only been about five minutes but Emma has already seen enough handsome, single men enter the restaurant that her blood is beginning to boil. Which one is Regina's date? Who is he? A besotted customer from the diner? A stranger from the street?

She waits for a break in the traffic and then cuts across the road, ducking her head to keep the insistent precipitation out of her eyes. She'll just slide in quietly and take a look around.

She strides past the busboy, ignoring entirely his query of, "ma'am, do you have a reservation?", and hovers under the archway leading into the main part of the restaurant. What she sees makes her blood instantly run cold.

Before she can think about it she is striding forward, the rush of adrenaline carrying her quickly across the room. She reaches out, one strong push from both of her hands sending her least favorite pirate stumbling back a half step. He startles momentarily, then catches sight of who is standing in front of him and a slow smile spreads across his face.

"You!" Emma hisses. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Not happy to see me, love?" The pirate runs idle fingers through his rough beard.

"No," she replies flatly. "What happened to your..." She gestures vaguely at his left hand. And it truly is a hand, complete with five fingers that appear to function normally.

"Oh that? A friend fixed it up for me in a exchange for a little recognizance work." He nods across the table.

Emma turns to face the woman she'd hoped she would never see again. She takes a deep, angry breath. "Cora," she manages to spit out.

"Ah, the savior." Cora drops her fingers from Regina's face. Her smile is twisted, vaguely frightening.

They're beginning to attract worried glances from the wait staff. The atmosphere in the restaurant is meant to be romantic; the dim lights and candles scattered on the tables are intended to create a sense of intimacy. To Emma it feels oppressive, claustrophobic. Too many people, not enough light.

Regina's wide, frightened eyes turn to Emma.

"Emma," she asks in a small voice. "Do you know these people?"

Emma's heart sinks to twist and churn uncomfortably somewhere in her gut.

Cora tips her head back and laughs, not caring about the stares she's attracting from the people around them.

"Of course she does, dear. She's the daughter of your mortal enemy." The older woman smiles broadly in delight. "You mean she didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Regina demands, her voice shaking with hurt and confusion. "Emma, you said you'd never met me before. Are you... did you _lie_?"

"Regina listen, it's not what you think," Emma pleads. She steps towards the other woman, arm outstretched.

Regina shakes her head sharply, stopping the blonde in her tracks. "That first day I met you, you acted like you knew me. But you said you didn't. And I believed you. But all of our conversations, everything. It was all a lie." Regina's voice is flat, resigned, her eyes hard.

And then as she continues her voice begins to cant upwards, heading towards hysterical. "You knew I was feeling lost and yet you didn't tell me-" The last words end on a choked sob.

Emma takes another step forward, opens her mouth to speak but before she can Regina holds up a firm hand. "No."

The dark-haired woman takes a deep, shaky breath. And then another, much stronger this time. As Emma watches, a sense of hardness settles over the other woman. Regina straightens up, taller than Emma in her ridiculous heels, and looks down at the blonde with a look of disgust on her face.

"You lied." She repeats flatly.

"Come, dear." Cora puts a soothing arm around her daughter's waist. "Let's leave this _trash_ here. Let your mother take care of you. I can explain everything."

Regina nods stiffly and lets her mother draw her away. Emma immediately starts after them, but a firm arm reaches out to hold her in place.

"Not so fast, love." The pirate's eyes are hard, unforgiving. "I don't think she wants anything to do with you anymore. Tough break, eh?" He gives her a cold smile and then strides after the two women.

Emma is left standing by an empty, unused table. She's breathing hard, shaking with anger and adrenaline. After a moment she mutters an angry swear word under her breath.

A waiter sidles up beside her. "Are you still wanting this table?" he asks tentatively.

Emma shoots him a look and then elbows past him, striding stiffly out of the restaurant. Outside on the busy street there is no sign of Regina, Cora or Hook. Emma's gut is twisted in knots, she's too confused and high on adrenaline to think straight, and so she does the only thing she can think of.

She swears out loud, kicks out a booted foot to connect with a lamp post.

"Fuck!" she repeats. A man in a business suit shoots her a dirty look and hurries past. She glares in the man's direction before turning back towards her rented room.

She hadn't seen that one coming. She'd been completely blindsided, too caught up in sparkling eyes and a beautiful smile to actually _think_. She was supposed to be here to rescue Regina, to bring Henry back his mother. But in the process, instead she's delivered Regina directly into the hands of their greatest threat.

"Fuck."

Back in her room, she digs her phone out from under the mattress and pushes the power button. It hasn't been charged in a week but it still holds enough power to light up faithfully. After a moment it begins to blink with missed messages. A handful voice mails, dozens of text messages. She punches one at random at to open it.

_Emma, Cora is here! Please call!_

"Fuck!"

xxx

After forty-five minutes on the phone with Mary Margaret, Emma is no further ahead. She plugs her phone, now completely drained of juice, into the wall to charge and then sinks down onto the bed. She drops her head into her hands and tries to think.

What would Cora want with Regina?

That's an easy one. Mary Margaret had told her, back when they were in the other land, that Cora has always sought to keep Regina close, under her control. _A twisted sense of love_, she had called it.

So next question. Where is Cora taking Regina?

Presumably Cora would want to get back home. But to do that she'll need magic. The only place that there's magic is-

"Storybrooke."

Emma springs from the bed and hastily drags her duffel bag out of the closet. She scoops messy piles of clothing and toiletries into the bag, pausing only as her fingers brush over the t-shirt Regina had loaned her after the snowstorm. The word 'Boston' is emblazoned proudly on the front in red lettering. That was only a week ago.

Her fingers rub the soft cotton as her eyes drift out of focus, thinking of the shirt's dark-haired owner. Then, with a growl, she clenches her hand into a fist and stuffs the shirt into her bag with the rest of her clothing.

Time to go home.

xxx

The drive is quiet. Regina sits in the back seat of a rented Lincoln and watches the slushy rain hit the windows. She's faintly nauseous, both from hunger and from the smell of rental car cleaning chemicals and the perfume that belongs to the woman in the front seat. The woman who claims to be her mother.

Killian is behind the steering wheel, operating the vehicle in an awkward manner that suggests he doesn't drive a car very often. He and the woman break the silence only occasionally to argue about the controls in the car or his poor driving skills. Regina almost wishes they would crash, wishes there would be end to the overwhelming feelings of hurt swelling inside her. An end to her heart pounding too-hard in her chest. An end to the betrayal.

Her mind strays repeatedly to her blonde friend. Who apparently never was truly a friend at all. In her mind she can clearly see the look on Emma's face in the restaurant. First the anger, and then the guilt, the flush of being caught. Sad eyes, guilty and pleading.

_Betrayal._

And then a flash of Emma, weeks ago, waiting for her outside the diner, face lighting up as Regina steps towards her. Blonde hair blowing in the winter wind, warm grey eyes and flushed cheeks.

_Betrayal._

Regina bites down on her lower lip and forces her mind to go blank. There is no going back.

xxx

It takes her longer than she'd like to retrieve her Bug from long-term parking. By the time she's finally on the road it's nearly midnight. The slush has turned to true snow as Emma finally leaves the city behind and points her headlights north.

_I'm coming, Regina._


	9. Chapter 9

Emma slouches on a hard wooden chair, a cup of black coffee, her third already, nestled against her stomach. Across the tiny, beat-up wooden table sit Mary Margaret and David, side-by-side, a unified front against their wayward daughter. David looks half-asleep still, blinking wearily in the lamplight, but Mary Margaret sits tall and alert, her back straight, dark eyes trained on the blonde across the table.

Emma had blown into town in the wee hours of morning in a gust of snow and winter wind. Somehow Henry had slept through her entrance, through the raised, heated whispers, through the banging of coffee mugs and scraping of wooden chair legs on the ancient flooring.

For this fact at least Emma is pathetically grateful. She's dreading facing her son, having to tell him that she's failed. Failed miserably.

Although, she supposes that Regina is now in Storybrooke. Somewhere. That's something, right?

Mary Margaret sighs, takes a deep breath, and reiterates yet again, "So she had no memories, none at all?"

Emma shakes her head wearily. She's been up all night. She's already answered these questions. She needs to find Regina.

"And you, what – just hung out with her? For over a month?" Mary Margret's voice is calm, too calm.

Emma nods again.

"And – this was your _plan?_" Now a note of angry hysterics creeps into the brunette's voice. "Emma, you told us you had a plan. You told us it was _under control_."

Emma shrugs, feeling like a belligerent teenager. And yet at the same feeling tired and worn out, far too old, too used.

"Emma-" Her mother's words fall off as they hear movement up in the loft. Henry is awake.

Abruptly Emma pushes back her chair, the loud screech of wood on wood causing everyone around the table to flinch. She slams her coffee mug down on the table, her hands more shaky than she'd like to admit. She snags her jacket, listening for the jingle of keys in the pocket.

"I'll be back," she mutters.

"Emma, don't you dare just run away!" Mary Margaret stands, shoots her husband a frustrated look. David rises as well, starts to come around the table with a fatherly look on his face.

"Emma." Mary Margaret repeats. "Emma!"

But Emma is already out the door. She can't face Henry, not yet. Not until she's done everything she can to bring his mother back. Are her actions cowardly? Perhaps. But running away is something she does well. It's the coming back part she's not so good at yet.

_I will come back soon Henry, I promise. I just have to find Regina first._

She pounds out onto the street, shrugging hastily into her jacket as she registers the extreme chill in the air. It's colder here than in Boston. The wind is blowing strong and frigid off the water, sending tendrils of icy air down the back of her neck and up the cuffs of her sleeves. Her nose immediately starts to run.

She brushes crusty snow off the windshield of the Bug with the sleeve of her jacket. The inside of the car is still faintly warm, or perhaps it's just a relief to be out of the biting wind. She cranks the engine and pulls out onto the empty street. Above her the sky is just barely starting to brighten in the east, the first light of dawn casting a sickly grey pallor to the winter landscape.

It's only a matter of minutes before she is slowing down to coast past the mayoral mansion. There is a light shining in one of the upstairs windows. Bingo.

She parks three blocks away, tucked off the road, and uses the last of the lingering shadows to slip back to the mansion. She approaches from the side, utilizing bushes and the occasional tree for cover, somewhat startled but entirely unsurprised when she encounters a stinging resistance about five feet shy of the building. She can't go any further.

She finds a convenient hedge, hunkers down in the snow and waits.

xxx

Regina sits in the study, sipping a cup of Earl Grey tea. She winces at the bitter taste, but it was the only option in the cupboard. Her cupboard, apparently, if her mother is to be believed. But how could possibly it be her cupboard if it only contains tea that she despises?

Regina is overwhelmed. Angry and scared. Confused. Lost, and so very alone.

She had awoken this morning in a strange bed. Her last memory from the night before was of being curled up in a fetal position in the back of the rental car, tired, oh so tired, and desperately wishing she were anywhere else.

This morning she had found herself dressed in a demure night gown, tucked firmly into clean, crisp sheets in a hard, strange bed. She had clung to sleep, desperately wanting to be back in oblivion, but within moments of waking _The Woman_ was in her room. Cora. Her mother.

And from that moment forward she'd wished she'd remained asleep because her day had just gone downhill from there.

The powers _The Woman_ had used, which she had called 'magic', had been frightening. Regina had sat still, so very still, as unseen hands had touched and groomed her body. Dressed her in unfamiliar clothing. Brushed and styled her hair. Breakfast had appeared from thin air, a piece of dry toast and a single hard boiled egg.

She'd eaten, choked down the bland food, frightened by the intensity of the woman in front of her. The woman who was watching her with hawk-like eyes, full of intelligence and cunning.

But _The Woman_ hadn't given her time to catch her breath. No time to worry about the strange things happening around her, to ask for more breakfast to calm her rumbling stomach. Instead she had assaulted Regina with words, with story after story. About a loving mother raising her naughty daughter as best she could. About the daughter betraying her mother, and yet the mother loving her still. The mother coming back now to rescue that lost, ungrateful child. To bring her home. Because of _love_.

She had spoken of a land far away, a land to which she intended to return, her daughter by her side.

Regina wonders how she can be that daughter. She has no memory of this woman. Shouldn't she feel a hint of something? Some familiarity or kinship, even if ever so slight?

The house doesn't feel familiar. The clothing doesn't feel familiar. Even she herself isn't familiar. When she'd caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror – a large, ornate monstrosity, gold-trimmed and ostentatious – she hadn't recognized herself. Her hair is piled on her head in an elaborate up-do. A velvet dress clings to her body. It's hot and rough against her skin, but she doesn't dare take it off. Her dark eyes had gazed back at her, haunted, through far too much make up. Black raccoon eyes.

The only thing that had felt remotely familiar was the strange tingle when _The Woman _had performed what she had termed 'magic'. And that was frightening of its own accord. The magic had brought an acrid taste to the back of her mouth, a smell of burning air that had made her nauseous, but it had also sent a delighted tingle running up her spine. She had a strange longing to taste the feeling of the magic, to touch it. But it remains frustratingly out of reach.

Regina wonders if she's gone insane. If perhaps the whole world is simply in her head, if she's only dreaming.

She wants to wake up.

She sips her bitter tea and grimaces. Her dress is laced up too tightly; she can't breathe, she can barely sit down. She's sweating under the fabric, itchy and restless. And yet she's cold at the same time, chilled to the bone. Her hair tickles her forehead and the back of her neck. The smell of magic lingers in the air. She wants to cry.

_The Woman_, along with the man she had known as Killian, have left the house. She had watched them exit through the front door. Watched an orange spark light up their bodies for a brief moment as they'd moved through the barrier _The Woman_ had told her she had placed around the house. For Regina's protection, of course. And then she'd watched as _The Woman_ had grasped Killian's arm, the two of them disappearing moments later in a cloud of purple smoke.

For the moment she is alone, blessedly alone. Regina takes another sip of the terrible tea.

Suddenly there is a clatter in the hallway. Startled, Regina springs to her feet, awkward in the tight, horrible dress. The tea spills, splashing her clothing and the expensive rug beneath her feet.

What now?

xxx

Emma feels a surge of relief as she peers around the door frame and spots Regina standing, wide-eyed, hand to her chest. She moves quickly into the room, intent on getting the other woman out before Cora and Hook return.

She strides forward, reaches out a hand. "Come on," she urges. "Let's get you out of here."

Regina steps forward automatically, but then stops. Her eyes narrow and she straightens up, leveling her best glare at the blonde. Emma can see the thoughts playing out over Regina's naked face. Unlike the mayor, this Regina has never been good at hiding her emotions. Suspicion and anger are warring with hope and fear, and Emma stifles the urge wrap the other woman in her arms, to hold her close, to chase away her demons.

She hasn't earned that right, at least not yet.

"Why should I go anywhere with you?" Regina finally asks, voice flat.

"Because that woman, your mother – she's up to no good. She doesn't have your best interests in mind." Emma puts all the sincerity she has into her voice, pleading with Regina to believe her. She takes a step forward.

"And you do?" Regina side-steps, an awkward little shuffle towards the safety of the bulky desk, a tight little movement in a tight skirt. Emma notes the new wardrobe, the theatrical getup of black fabric and lace, dipping cleavage and velvety curves. Regina's long neck is exposed, her throat appearing oddly vulnerable to Emma's eyes. She wonders if Regina chose the clothing, or if this is Cora's idea of how her daughter should dress.

Emma prefers Regina in soft yoga pants and a simple t-shirt. This outfit is meant to intimidate, but Emma can see the vulnerability in the dark eyes and what she feels instead is pity, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility. This is her fault. If only she hadn't wasted so much time trying to figure out what to do. If only she hadn't run away after the uncomfortable moment in the snow-filled park. If only she had kept her damned phone turned on...

Emma takes another step forward and answers the question as best she can. "I do have your best interests in mind. You have to believe me."

Another shuffling side-step towards the desk. Regina's dark eyes flash. "Why should I believe you? You lied to me."

"I did," Emma admits freely.

The look of steely determination on Regina's face falters at the open admission. "Why?" she asks, her voice cracking slightly.

Another step forward. "Because I didn't know what else to do."

The words are honest. Regina frowns in confusion.

Emma hastily elaborates. "You left because you were hurting. It was partly my fault. You forgot who you were. That was deliberate. That's how much you were hurting."

A hint of moisture pools in the black eyes and Emma takes another tentative step forward, her hands held out in front of her in the universal gesture of peace. The utter sadness and confusion in front of her breaks her heart and she would give anything to get another chance, to turn back time and approach this whole situation completely differently. Who knew that the ruthless, so-called evil queen was actually so fragile?

"I came to find you. Your son... our son... he asked me to." Emma stumbles over the words. How can she explain? She'd set out in search of Regina at Henry's request, but she'd stayed for her own reasons.

Dark eyes flit to a framed school picture of Henry that rests on the mantle. He isn't smiling in the picture, is simply watching the camera with something close to resignation. Yet the photo is clearly in a place of honor, centered alone above the fireplace.

There is no recognition in Regina's gaze, just confusion as she examines the photograph. After a moment she turns back to Emma, the hint of a question in her eyes.

"Yes, that's him. Henry. He loves you and he misses you." Emma's voice warms instinctively as she speaks of their son.

At this Regina's mouth tightens, a tiny frown appears between her eyebrows. "She said you took him away from me."

Emma picks her words slowly, carefully. "Not intentionally," she replies. "But yes, he's been living with me the past little while."

Emma moves forward again, another small, hopefully nonthreatening step. She doesn't know what to say. She's unsure how she can convince this woman to trust her again. Is that even possible? And what will happen if she's caught here when Cora returns?

Her eyes dart to the window nervously, then back to the scared, belligerent woman in black velvet standing before her.

"How did you get in? " Regina's sudden words are demanding, accusatory. Covering up fear with bravado, and Emma is startled to realize that this is exactly the same tactic that the mayor of Storybrooke had used too. Always attack first, and show no weaknesses.

"She said that she had protected the house, that no one could get in," Regina continues pointedly, her words bordering on aggressive. "She said she'd used... _magic_."

"She did." Emma keeps her voice smooth, as calm as possible. Soothing. Trying not to frighten. She remembers when she'd first found out that magic was real, remembers that sense of overwhelming fear and uncertainty. She wonders what else Cora has told her daughter.

"She did," Emma repeats. "But she doesn't know the architecture of this world very well. She protected the house, but not the garage or anything below ground. And there's a crawl space that goes under... well, I got in."

Emma doesn't mention that after finding people and knowing when someone is lying, her next best skill is break and entry. She doesn't mention that the crawl space looked to her an awful lot like an escape tunnel, something a paranoid former regent would have built into her residence.

After a moment Regina speaks again. "She's... not from this world, is she?" she asks tentatively.

"No. Neither are you. Neither am I, for that matter, although we've both been here for a very long time. This is where we belong now." As Emma speaks the words she realizes that she truly believes them. They do belong here, all of them. Except for Cora. And that irritating pirate, Hook.

"She wants to take me away, to another land." Regina's voice weakens, slips towards borderline hysterical. "She wants me to do magic with her, to rule a kingdom."

Emma takes another step forward, bringing herself almost within arm's reach. "Do you want to go with her?"

Regina barks out a shaky laugh. "I don't think I have any choice. She's very... persuasive."

"Tell me about it," Emma says darkly. Then, with some urgency, "Regina, she's not who she seems to be. I need you to come with me. I can keep you safe."

"Can you really keep me safe? From _her_?" Regina ponders sadly. "And why should I trust you? You've done nothing but lie to me since the day I met you."

"Actually, I haven't." Emma manages a small, sad smile. "But you don't remember the day we met. We stood in this very room and you threatened me. You intimidated the hell out of me. And you were-"

"I was what?"

"You were beautiful. And strong," Emma admits. "But so angry and scared that I was going to hurt you. To take away what you loved."

"And did you?" Regina asks. Her head tilts to the side, looking oddly curious about the answer.

"Yes." Emma drops her eyes for a moment, then raises them again. "But you hurt me too. And my friends and family. Deliberately. We were very angry with each other."

"So where does that leave us now?" Regina questions, her voice dropping. "And you still haven't told me why I should trust you."

Emma steps forward, breaching the dark-haired woman's space. She can feel the waves of anger and confusion pouring off Regina's body. She's close enough that she could reach out and touch velvet and lace, curves and soft skin, but she doesn't. She notices Regina's eyes darting across the room, as if planning an escape, but she doesn't move either.

Emma figures this is a good sign. She tips her head towards the woman in front of her and speaks in a low, urgent voice. "You should trust me because we had a second chance. The only lie I told you in Boston was that I hadn't met you before. Everything else... Everything else was real."

She finally reaches out, runs tentative fingers up a bare forearm to grasp a velvet-covered bicep.

The sting of magic takes them both by surprise. It's like a static shock, traveling from one body to the other and back again. Regina gasps and pulls her arm away, looking up at Emma in confusion and accusation.

Emma rubs her fingers together to dispel the lingering sense of electricity, then reaches forward again deliberately. Regina stumbles backwards, trying to avoid her, but Emma moves faster in her flat boots and familiar street clothes. This time she is prepared, and when her fingers close around Regina's wrist the tingle that passes between them is more of a gentle buzz. A hum in the pit of her stomach that quickens her pulse, causes her heart to flutter madly in her chest.

Regina tugs, tries to break free, then raises her other hand and pushes hard on Emma's shoulder. "Let go of me!" she cries. Her fist flies out wildly, trying to drive the blonde away.

Emma, always contrary by nature, simply pulls the dark-haired woman closer. She makes what she hopes are soothing noises, inanely trying to calm the growing hysteria. Unfortunately she herself is anything but calm. She's worried, experiencing a growing sense of urgency, of panic. Regina is getting loud, and they've already lingered far too long already. Cora and Hook could be back at any moment.

Time to try something else. She wraps both arms around the struggling woman and holds on tight. A strong hand beats on her shoulder, claws out at her face, and then Regina is twisting from side to side in an attempt to break free.

Emma just hangs on. After a few moments the body in her arms stills and a pair of blazing, ink-black eyes meet hers in fury. "Why?" Regina spits out. "Why won't you let me go? Why don't you just leave me be?"

"Because," Emma whispers. She can feel the swell of emotions in her chest. The sense of responsibility. Her desire to protect this woman, both this innocent, beautiful, kind woman in front of her now, and also the crafty, hurt, broken Regina that she knew before. Because of her love for Henry, and her love for...

"Because," she repeats. And then she's leaning forward. Something of her intention must show in her face because dark eyes regard hers in desperation for a moment before slipping shut. Emma leans forward and brings her lips gently to meet those of the woman in her arms.

A single heartbeat, and then another. She can feel the blood pounding in her veins, can feel her soul rise to the surface, ready to meet the woman in front of her. Regina melts into her for one blissful second, soft against Emma's lips. Her hands grab the material of Emma's jacket, pulling her close, humming against her mouth, and Emma's heart sings with joy.

And then there is the feeling like all the air is being sucked out of the room. First a compression on her chest, almost unbearable, then a force like energy pushing outwards. Strong hands tighten on her jacket, tugging her even closer for just a split second, and then Emma is being pushed away. Hard.

She stumbles backwards, falling to one shaky knee. She looks up into dark, wide eyes. There is a vulnerability there, deep and aching, and Emma starts to push to her feet, automatically being drawn forward.

But Regina straightens up, and her energy is transformed so drastically that Emma stays where she is. Black eyes glance first down at Regina's own hands, then to Emma with a faint look of horror.

"You." The word, drawn slowly from dark red lips, is both a curse and a complaint. There is a twitch at the corner of Regina's left eye as she looks down on the blonde in front of her with undisguised disgust.

"Miss Swan, I do wish you would stop meddling where you're not wanted." The words are flat, broken, and a moment later slender, graceful fingers are twisting in the air. A cloud of purple smoke rolls upwards, carrying Regina away.

And Emma is alone. The taste of the dark woman's lips still lingers on her mouth, along with the metallic smell of burning ozone in the air. Of magic. Regina used magic.

Regina is back.

From outside the window she hears a male voice, and then Cora's soft, velvety tones.

She has no time to think about what just happened. She scurries back to the little door in the hallway and slips, as quickly and quietly as she can, into the basement, into the crawl space that will take her back to the garage, back to freedom.

Regina is back.

She doesn't know whether to be ecstatic, or terrified.


	10. Chapter 10

The questions come fast and furious, voices overlapping, rising to compete with one another, bouncing louder and louder off the walls in the small apartment.

"What do you mean, Regina's back to normal?"

"You saw my mom? She's here? Can I see her?"

"How do you know? Did she say anything? Where's Cora? What are they planning?"

"I want to see her now Emma, can I?"

Emma rubs her temples, fighting a splitting headache and sheer exhaustion. She hasn't eaten in over twenty-four hours, hasn't slept in even longer, and there's a strange electricity still humming in her veins.

_I kissed Regina._

Emma holds up a hand, pleading for silence. After a moment the voices die off. Three sets of eyes stare at her, full of questions.

She turns to Henry first. Bends down on creaky, tired knees and looks up into his face. His hair has grown while she was away, no one has thought to give him a haircut. Thick dark strands hang over his forehead, sleep-rumpled and messy, half-covering his eyes. He tosses his head slightly to flick the hair out of his face, gazes down at her in hope and trust.

"Your mom's back, Henry," she says. "I'm sorry it took so long. She had forgotten everything but I think... I'm pretty sure she remembers again. I'm pretty sure she's back to normal."

"Whoo hoo!" Henry whoops and punches the air. He throws his arms around Emma, hugs her tight. "I knew you could do it! I knew you could save her too!"

For a moment Emma sinks into the hug. Into the friendly arms that belong to a boy who thinks she's a hero, that she can do no wrong. But it's a luxury she can't allow herself. She squeezes Henry back briefly, tightly, and then pulls away.

_I kissed Regina._

Emma shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "Don't thank me yet kid. I'm not sure it was really my doing," she suggests, glossing over the alarming truth that she still hasn't had time to digest. "Besides, we have bigger problems on our hands."

"Do you mean Cora?" he asks. His voice is serious, his face worried. His understanding is, as always, far beyond that of a normal eleven-year-old.

Emma pushes to her feet, rests a hand on the back of one of the wooden chairs and slumps down, allowing it to support some of her weight.

_I kissed Regina. She kissed me back._

"Yes." She nods, then sighs. "And I'm not sure where your mom is right now. She's probably with Cora. So you may need to wait to see her, okay? Can you hang in there?"

Henry nods, serious and responsible.

Mary Margaret steps forward, having contained herself for as long as possible. "You said she has her memories back. How did that happen? Did they come back when she returned to town?" Her voice is shrill, a little too loud, and Emma winces.

_I kissed her. She kissed me back._

"I don't know. I guess so." Emma's eyes dart away from her mother's penetrating gaze to skim over the top of Henry's head. She glances around the kitchen, her eyes landing on various objects at random. A vase of flowers. The coffee mugs from earlier, still unwashed, stacked on the counter. The hole in the wall above the stove where a single brick is missing.

_She kissed me back._

With a start, her eyes snap back to the people in front of her. Mary Margaret is watching her with narrowed eyes. She meets her mother's gaze, holding steady. She watches a flash of emotions flit across her mother's face - exasperation, worry, affection, confusion. After a moment Mary Margaret blinks and looks away.

"That's strange," David muses out loud. "Sneezy still hasn't regained his memory, and he's been back on this side of the line for months."

"Maybe it's different because Regina cast the curse?" Mary Margaret suggests. As always, there is a slight hitch in her voice when she speaks the woman's name, a twist of love and sorrow. Emma ignores it.

"It doesn't really matter though," her mother continues. "The point is that Regina's back. She and Cora together will be... unstoppable."

Mary Margaret shudders visibly, lost in thought for long moments. Then she shakes herself and looks over at her husband. "What now?"

"Now we wait," David says quietly. "We need to understand what they're up to, but we won't figure that out until they're ready to let us know. If there's one thing I know about Regina and Cora, it's that they always like making a show."

Mary Margaret nods.

"So," David points his finger at Emma. "Have a piece of toast or something, and then it's off to bed with you young lady. You look dead on your feet."

Emma smiles halfheartedly at his attempt at lightheartedness. She nods, moves into the kitchen, stares blankly at the refrigerator.

"I'll make it for you Emma!" Henry exclaims. Emma blinks at him in weary appreciation. He bustles past her, opens the fridge and draws out a loaf of bread and the strawberry jam, which they both love. Emma allows herself to slump into a chair while she waits for her toast.

_I kissed her._

xxx

"Emma."

The voice echoes in her dream. She's running, but she's not sure where she's running to. Then she sees a figure in the distance. It's Regina, dressed in a plain outfit and her waitressing apron, hair braided back. She has a simple, welcoming look on her face.

Emma tries to run towards her, but as hard as she runs, the figure keeps receding further and further into the distance. Suddenly there is a look of fear on those perfect features. Dark eyes pleading, looking desperately into hers. _Help me!_ the dream Regina cries as the ground opens up beneath her feet.

Emma runs harder.

And then abruptly she is in front of the other woman. She reaches out to draw the falling figure to safety, only to find that they're both standing on firm ground. And then Regina is dressed as the mayor. Black blazer, black pants, deathly white shirt. There is a sneer on her lips, purple fire in her eyes.

_True love_, the woman scoffs. _You thought this was true love?_

She throws her head back and laughs, a maniacal, demonic sound. And then Emma is falling. The ground beneath her feet has disappeared and she is falling down into an abyss. Purple eyes watch her as she falls, lit up with a triumphant fire.

Emma screams.

"Emma. Emma wake up, it's happening."

Emma startles abruptly awake. She sits up, gasps in a deep lungful of air. Mary Margaret runs a soothing hand down her arm, pats her thigh.

She gives Emma a few more moments to wake up, and then she says, "Out there. Look." She points to the window above the bed. Emma turns her head to peer out the window. Through the thin, gauzy curtains she can see a strange purple glow, reminiscent of the glow in her dream.

"What the hell...?" she stutters out. She twists around and pushes back the curtains. It looks to be late afternoon, the pale sky blanketed by heavy grey clouds. Off to the right, towards the center of town, an angry purple hue is lighting up the sky.

The purple clouds are spinning, swirling lazily in the sky in a clockwise motion, driven by a point of power below. The clock tower.

"Shit."

Mary Margaret winces at the swear word but says nothing, just pushes off the bed and straightens up. "Downstairs, one minute," she orders, and then strides from the room.

Emma yanks on a pair of pants, swearing again as she stumbles a little, tugs a sweater over her head, and flies out of the bedroom. She leaps off the ladder halfway down, a move they're always chastising Henry for, and joins her family who look as if they are preparing for war.

David holds his sword, testing the balance, while Mary Margaret is arming herself with an alarming assortment of knives. She slings a quiver of arrows over her back, loops her arm through the bow, and then bends to pick up a gleaming short sword.

Emma stuffs her feet into a pair of boots and pulls on her winter jacket. She wishes that she had her gun, but it's locked up at the sheriff station. And it's not likely to do much good with what they're going up against anyways. Still she feels naked and unprotected, and her mother must sense this because she hands over the short sword without a comment. Emma nods in thanks.

Henry is pleading with his grandparents. "Please let me come? I'll stay out of the way. I won't get hurt. I promise. Please?"

David stands firm in front of his grandson. "No Henry. We need you to stay here."

"Mom won't hurt me, I know she won't!" Henry exclaims. David meets Mary Margaret's eyes over their grandson's head and it's clear they're not as confident as he is.

David points a finger at the boy. "Henry, stay here. That's final." Then he nods to his wife and daughter. "Let's go."

Henry turns to his blonde mother, not yet willing to give up. "But, Emma! She won't hurt me. _You_ know she won't! I need to be there with you!" His voice is borderline hysterical. Emma agrees with him on one point actually, Regina would never hurt him, but Cora and Hook are a whole other matter.

"No Henry, not this time. Come on kid, I need your help," she pleads. " We'll be right back. Everything will be fine." Emma zips up her jacket, takes a tight grip on the sword and motions her parents to precede her out the apartment door.

Henry throws himself onto the small couch with a noise of pure frustration. The scowl on his face makes Emma think of Regina and she softens. "I'll come get you as soon as things have settled. I promise."

Henry ignores her, just stares angrily across the apartment. A pointed look from Mary Margaret gets her feet moving again. She shuts the door firmly behind her and David reaches around her with a key to lock it.

"There," he says. "He'll be safe. Let's go."

xxx

Out on the street the wind is howling, scooping up snow, small chunks of ice, and a few lingering fall leaves, and whipping them high into the air. The threesome duck their heads and push forward into the wind, towards vortex of the storm.

The clouds are spinning somewhat faster now, lit up with purple magic and bolts of lightning, increasingly dramatic against the darkening sky. In the center of town a crowd is gathering. Granny nods as they burst into the square, gestures at them with her crossbow. Moments later they are surrounded by a flurry of townsfolk, their voices of concern and fear raised over the storm.

Emma can feel all the hair on her body standing up, singing and prickling with the immense power swirling around them. She can taste it in her mouth, feel it vibrating her teeth. It's uncomfortable, irritating. Her body thrums and she can feel Regina, out there, somewhere near the center of the storm.

She's wondering how to get to her when a bolt of lightning strikes the top of the top of the clock tower, followed by an illuminating beam of purple energy. The townsfolk look up to the clock tower and gasp as one.

The old archways in the top of the tower have been boarded up for years. No one goes up there. But now the boards have been removed. Standing directly below the gigantic clock face in the largest of the arches are two feminine figures. Their cloaks billow in the wind as they look down, cold and unfeeling, on the people below.

Lounging in one of the high windows to their right is the pirate. His leg is propped up on the windowsill, an elbow resting on his knee. He works a toothpick in his teeth with his restored left hand. His eyes scan the crowd with seeming indifference, but Emma knows better. She knows who he's looking for, but Mr. Gold is nowhere to be seen.

The shorter, older of the two figures steps forward, raises her hands. Her voice rings clearly, majestically over the storm.

"Citizens of Storybrooke," she says. There is something condescending about Cora's voice, although she is clearly enjoying playing the part her daughter entertained for many years.

"We are going home," she announces with pleasure. "As our gift to you, you may remain, unharmed, in this new and... _fascinating_... land."

"How?" Mary Margaret calls out, stepping forward. "How will you get back?" she asks. "Don't you need something to guide your way?"

Cora looks down sharply, then her face twists with false affection. "Darling Snow White," she addresses her. "I have no need for any trinkets this time. I have traveled once between our lands, and now that I know the way I can do so again. As often as I wish."

Her eyes glint in warning and Mary Margaret glances back at David with something akin to panic on her face.

"Captain Hook," Cora turns to address the man leaning in the window. Her words come more quietly now, although they can still be heard clearly over the sound of the storm. He glances up at her with an unconcerned gaze.

"Are you sure you don't wish to accompany us?"

"No my lady, for my work here is not yet done." He bows with a flourish, draws back slightly out of the window. "But I trust you will remember our bargain and return for me?"

"Of course." Cora smiles at him.

His eyes narrow, assessing, and then he nods once, curtly, and Cora turns back to the crowd.

The air is heavy in Emma's lungs, cold and sharp. Metallic. It hurts to breath. There is a pressure building at the back of her skull. When Cora speaks again Emma grits her teeth in pain as the voice reverberates between her ears.

"As a parting gift, there is one thing we wish to take with us from this land."

"You've taken enough!" David calls out. The crowd murmurs in agreement.

The corner of Cora's lip twists up. "Perhaps," she replies. "But there is just one more small thing that we shall take, a souvenir for my dear daughter."

She reaches out her hand and a beam of purple energy snakes out, reaching into the crowd.

The townsfolk cry out, throw themselves out of the way. A moment later Emma cries out too as the end of the purple beam reaches its destination.

Henry.

He must have snuck out of the house. Followed them down to the town square. And now her worst nightmare is coming true - Henry is in Cora's hands, soon to be on his way to another land.

"No!" she cries out. The sword falls with a clatter from her nerveless fingers as she sprints the forty or so feet to where her son is enveloped in the purple beam. She launches at his body, wraps herself around him just in time to feel her molecules get pulled apart.

It hurts. She would scream if she could, but then she's being reconstructed and she is collapsing, landing in a heap of tangled limbs, hers and Henry's, inside the clock tower.

Above them the giant mechanism of the clock grinds away, ticking off one second at a time. She lies still for a moment, gasping, grounding herself, and then she's reaching out to Henry, checking to see if he's okay.

She barely has time to reach out a hand before a strong force picks her up and pins her against the far wall. Cora is regarding her with a condescending sort of amusement. A quirk of her sculpted eyebrow, and then Emma is mentally dismissed, an insignificant insect to be squashed beneath the heel of Cora's shoe.

Cora glances at Hook, still lounging in one of the windows. "Watch her," she commands absently.

He nods, comes to stand in front of Emma. His eyes continue to dart out the window, looking for his crocodile, but it's not like Emma could go anywhere. She is pinned, completely frozen, to the hard wooden wall. She can't move her mouth, can barely breathe. All she can do is watch.

And so she watches as Regina's eyes fall on Henry and a crack of emotion splits her previously stoic face. She watches those dark eyes grow vulnerable and moist, watches as Regina reaches out to her son. "Henry," she gasps.

"Mom, no – don't hurt her! Don't do this! Let Emma go!" Henry demands. He pushes her hand away, angry, no longer so eager to be reunited.

Regina's face hardens again. She strides forward and twists him around to her side, grasping his shoulder in a strong hand. It must hurt, Emma can see his wince, but he keeps quiet.

Cora's eyes are roaming up and down the boy's body, clearly finding him lacking. "Are you sure, darling?" she asks her daughter. "We could find you another boy. One who is less... provincial."

"You asked my price, mother. This is it. Give me Henry, and I will give you my loyalty." Regina's voice is flat, unwavering.

"Very well, dearest. Let's be off then, this show is getting old."

Cora steps back into the archway. She raises both hands and the vortex outside, which had been lazily swirling above, begins to spin faster and faster. She laughs, a delighted, wicked sound. And then the air is tearing, splitting apart.

Emma can feel how wrong this is, can feel the molecules screaming. The wrongness is in her inner ear, in the marrow of her bones, at the back of her eyes. A portal is wrenched open, purple and gaping, a giant wound hovering in the air before them.

Cora smiles. "After you, darling."

Regina's eyes dart to Emma's for a split second. Dark and unreadable. And then she is moving.

She thrusts Henry away from her, back to towards Emma. Her strong hand wraps around Hook's forearm. The pirate, distracted by the gaping wound in the air before them, is taken completely off guard. A moment later he is sailing, propelled by an unseen force, into the open portal. He disappears, the shock on his face lingering in Emma's mind.

"Regina, what are you doing?!" Cora's voice is harsh, screeching. She strides forward, thunder in her eyes. Emma feels the bonds holding her to the wall suddenly go slack and she crumbles painfully to the floor.

Henry is there, helping her up, and they watch with undisguised awe as Regina strides forward to meet her mother. "I'm not going back with you, mother," she says simply. She raises her arms and thrusts, and a shock wave of energy lashes forward in an attempt to send Cora spinning into the portal.

Cora raises her own hands, easily deflecting the push. A cold smile spreads across her face. "Not this time, darling daughter. You caught me with that little trick once, you won't do it again. We're leaving the boy here, but _you_ are coming with me."

Regina braces herself. The air crackles as tries to stand her ground, but Emma can see that she is losing. Cora's energy is drawing her forward, slowly and inexorably, a relentless force. The air between them bends and crackles. Regina's front teeth bite into her lower lip, drawing a drop of blood. Her face is twisted in pain and effort. And she is losing.

Cora's face is lit up, the bones of her skull showing white and hard through her skin. Her eyes glow the same purple as the cloud around them, the same color as the giant, hungry rift in the sky. Her fingers, twisted and claw-like, reach out to claim her daughter.

Regina is losing.

As if of their own accord, Emma's feet draw her forward. She comes up behind Regina, fighting the energy, the pounding in her veins and the howling in her skull that compels her to move away, as far away as possible. Instead she inches forward, directly into the fray.

She reaches out, drops a hand on Regina's shoulder.

For a moment nothing happens. Emma can feel delicate bones through the fabric under her fingers and she squeezes as hard as she dares. Then suddenly the now-familiar spark surges between them. Regina is glowing, a pink hue enveloping her body, and with a start Emma realizes that the same glow surrounds her as well. She can feel their combined power, can feel Regina gather it, hold it close for a moment, and then as one they thrust.

Cora flies backwards, a look of utter hatred and betrayal on her face.

Regina reaches out and twists, and something happens to the gaping hole in the sky. It changes, first glowing blood red, and now a sickly green. Its energy is even more menacing than before. For several moments the wound throbs brightly in the night sky, angry and painful, and then it is shrinking. Vanishing, taking Hook and Cora with it.


	11. Chapter 11

Early March. The temperature hovers consistently above freezing during the day, but it still gets cold enough for the clouds to drop a few inches of snow on occasion overnight. The rain and the wind off the ocean are carrying a little less bite, a little hint of spring. Daylight comes earlier in the mornings, dusk comes later and later in the afternoon, and the sun can be seen peeking through the clouds and the rain with increasing frequency.

The other morning Emma heard a bird twitter. Not the harsh cry of a seagull, but the melodic song of a migratory bird. It was short-lived, but served to plant a small seed of hope in Emma's chest. Spring is coming.

It will still be weeks before the first flowers poke their heads out of the cold ground, but with the increasing daylight Emma feels her energy and sense of self renewing as well.

It's been two and a half weeks since _The Battle at the Clock Tower_, as the confrontation has since been termed by the townsfolk. Two and a half weeks since the portal closed, since Regina had slumped into Emma's arms, buried her head wearily in Emma's neck, only to draw back moments later in confused annoyance, her eyes dark and unreadable once more.

Two and a half weeks since Regina had cupped a hand on the back of Henry's head, exhausted, affectionate, meeting his torn eyes briefly before dropping her gaze and vanishing in a cloud of purple smoke. Purple smoke that had seemed more violet than before, tinged with a hint of pink.

Emma scuffs her feet through the gravel and sand still scattered about on the street, left behind by the melting snow. Last year the city maintenance department had done a much better job of clearing the roads and sidewalks. But then last year Regina had been in charge. This year her flustered parents are doing the best they can, but the town is looking shabby, weather-worn after the long, hard winter. Is it simply because the curse has broken and the town is no longer held in stasis? Or is it because the people in charge don't care about the same tiny details that the former mayor once did?

And does that make that former mayor a control freak, or just someone who took very good care of her town?

Emma isn't sure. She isn't sure about many things these days.

She's drifting. Avoiding the tiny apartment where she's constantly tripping over someone. Where Henry gives her easy affection, where she and her parents are slowly growing more comfortable with each other, but where her loneliness is the most acute. It's painful to feel alone in the middle of a crowd.

At night, Emma curls up in bed holding a soft, well-worn t-shirt. The shirt has been washed a number of times, tossed into the machine on a weekly basis when Mary Margaret does her sweep of the apartment for hidden laundry. The word 'Boston' emblazoned on the front is already fading, but Emma can swear she still smells the faint scent of apples, a hint of the woman she has lost still lingering in the tight cotton weave.

Emma's feet slow as she realizes where her subconscious has led her. Her eyes rake up and down the mansion on Mifflin Street, glowing white in the broken mid-day light filtering through the high clouds. Perhaps this is where she meant to be after all.

Before she can think better of it she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and strides up the front walk. She rings the bell, listening to the chime echoing inside the house, and prepares herself to be disappointed.

Regina Mills has seen no one. They know she's still in town. They catch glimpses of her down by the water or lurking outside the schoolyard, but she slips away the moment anyone tries to approach. Regina is licking her wounds, and Emma mentally prepares herself to be turned away.

So she jumps, startled, when the gleaming white door swings open to reveal the object of her recent obsessions.

Emma's first thought is that Regina looks tired. Her eyes are drawn, the lines around her mouth deeper than usual. Her hair is down, brushed and styled in the mayor's usual fashion, the ends just brushing her shoulders. She's wearing black pants and a white dress shirt, no shoes.

Regina inclines her head, cocks an eyebrow. Her eyes are distant, unreadable. When she speaks her voice is calm, steady. "Yes, Sheriff? Is there something you require?"

Emma shakes her head, realizing that she's been caught staring. "Uh, yeah. Can I maybe, come in or something?"

"As eloquent as usual, I see," Regina murmurs, but steps aside and motions Emma inside the house. The door shuts heavily behind her. They stand in the sterile foyer, regarding each other warily.

"I had expected you long before this," Regina remarks finally.

Emma's head shoots up, wondering what the other woman means by that. Regina's face is as closed as ever, and Emma spends a moment thinking wistfully of how much easier it was to read the simpler version of this woman back in Boston.

Sensing a growing impatience in Regina's tightly strung body, Emma blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. "I was wondering - well, we were wondering actually - what happened to your mother? And to Hook? Are they back in your land?"

Emma can see immediately that it was the wrong question. Perfectly made up features twist into a scowl, and there is a hint of something darkening the beautiful brown eyes. Disappointment perhaps?

"It's your land too, _princess_," Regina snaps. "But no, I'm not sure where I sent them. Somewhere else. Somewhere new. It should take them longer to get back. My mother didn't navigate the journey so she won't know the way."

Emma breathes a sigh of relief. That's one good thing at least. The citizens of Storybrooke have been meeting in one war counsel after another, trying to agree upon a plan should 'the witch' return to town. And trying to decide what to do with their former 'evil queen'.

"Thank-you," Emma says.

Regina's eyes narrow, as if assessing her sincerity. She rocks back on her heels, crosses her arms across her chest. "Is that everything, Miss Swan?"

Emma takes a deep breath. She had thought that once she was in Regina's presence she would feel better. That this lonely, gaping hole in her chest would be filled. But she is just as alone as before.

She takes a step forward, wishing that this Regina was as trusting as the one she had met in Boston. Wishing that this Regina would smile at her. Would brush her arm, would look up at her wide-eyed wonder. Would laugh.

"No, I..." She trails off, not sure how to voice the emotions swirling in her chest. "Regina, we _kissed_. And that broke your curse. Doesn't that mean that we..."

Regina's face twists into a sneer. She uncrosses her arms, closes the distance between them. Emma can feel the dangerous energy rolling off the dark-haired woman, moody and frightening.

"I suppose you think I should be grateful that you broke the spell?" Regina spits out the words, low and harsh. Mocking. "I suppose you think I should be grateful that you think you love me?"

"I do love you," Emma admits softly. It's the first time she's said it, even to herself.

"You loved someone else. Someone who I am not."

"That someone is still you, Regina. And if you didn't love me too, it wouldn't have worked."

"You forget, dear, that I was a different person then." Regina's eyes flicker with a brief hint of sadness before growing cold and angry once more. But Emma sees it, and it's enough.

"I didn't forget. You're still the same person. And you still love me." Emma raises her hand, brushes her fingers gently along Regina's jaw line. Dark eyes flutter shut momentarily and Emma's heart surges in response.

But then a strong arm whips up to knock her hand angrily away. Black eyes blaze at Emma in fury. "Get out." The words are flat, leave no room for argument.

Emma backs up, stunned and a little hurt.

In desperation, she tries a different tactic. Throws her last card down on the table. "Henry wants to see you," she offers.

Again, the wrong thing to say. "Don't you _dare_ use my son against me." Regina's chest is heaving, indigo fire is starting to glow in her eyes. She looks dangerous, deadly. "Henry is too busy with his _charming little family_ to be bothered with me. Now I'm saying this for the last time, Miss Swan – get out."

Emma refuses to be intimidated. She refuses to show her hurt, her desperation. She nods sharply, then turns on her heel and exits the house, making a point of slamming the front door behind her. She thunders down the steps and onto the walkway, barely pausing as she hears a scream from behind her inside the house, followed by the sound of something large smashing.

She doesn't look back.

xxx

It's a Tuesday afternoon. School has been out for an hour already when Emma finds Henry perched in the new playground Regina had built after the old one was torn down. Has it already been over a year?

The playground is deserted apart from Henry who sits, lost in thought, feet dangling off the edge of one of the platforms that makes up the so-called castle. Unlike the original playground which had been made of wood, this one is metal and plastic. Black and grey and garish orange. Quite ugly really, when compared to its predecessor, but it's a popular place with the neighborhood children in the warmer months. Even more so now that the townsfolk have their memories back and the spires of the playground are reminiscent of the towers and castles of their homeland.

Emma heaves herself up the ladder, wincing at the feel of the cold, wet metal under her bare hands, and settles beside her son. She immediately feels water seeping through the seat of her jeans and wiggles uncomfortably.

For long moments Henry doesn't acknowledge her presence. When he finally speaks his voice is soft, his eyes trained on the toes of his shoes swinging in the breeze. "Emma?"

"Yeah kid?"

"Is my mom good, or evil?" He picks at a stray thread hanging out of the seam of his black school uniform pants.

"I guess... I guess she's a little of both. She's done some bad things, but that doesn't make _her_ bad." Emma pauses to think a little more. "She saved you, you know. That night up on the clock tower."

"I know." Henry glances at her out of the corner of his eye, then goes back to picking at the loose thread. "She saved you too, Emma. You and Snow White. When you came back through the portal."

Emma nods.

"And then," he continues, "That night on the clock tower, Cora had you trapped. She saved you then too, didn't she?"

"Technically kid, she saved the whole town that night. I think Cora was a big threat, and your mom banished her to an unknown place. If we're lucky, she'll never find her way back."

"But Emma, Cora wouldn't have been here if it wasn't for my mom! And my mom – Regina – she only saved the town after cursing it first!" Henry exclaims. He looks up her now, eyes full of confusion and distress.

"She did do a bunch of bad stuff," Emma admits after a moment. "But then she saved us. She did good stuff too. I think, maybe, she's trying to be better."

Henry drops his eyes again. "When she left town I just wanted her back again, I wanted her to come home. I didn't want her to forget me. But now that she's back, I'm not sure that I can forgive what she did. I'm not sure I want to see her. I'm not sure she deserves it."

"Hey." Emma nudges him with her shoulder. "Doesn't everyone deserve a second chance?"

"I don't know," he says quietly. "But I'll think about it."

xxx

Emma is in the tiny grocery store trying to decipher Mary Margaret's grocery list – is that goat cheese or gouda cheese? – when she catches sight of Regina, yellow plastic basket slung over her arm, fingering heads of lettuce. A spike of adrenaline jolts her alert at the sight of the woman she's spent so much time thinking about recently. Obsessing over, really.

Regina's dark hair is tucked behind her ears. She's wearing simple slacks and a long jacket, flat black shoes. Her eyes are focused on the produce, her head down, inconspicuous.

Emma inches over tentatively, sets her own basket down and clears her throat gently.

"Good morning," she offers softly.

Dark eyes rise to meet hers and Regina sighs ever so slightly. "I'm not sure what's _good_ about it, Sheriff. It's raining and cold, and you still have possession of my son."

"It's just an expression."

"Well then, let me _express_ my desire to do my grocery shopping in peace," the dark-haired woman bites out. She turns abruptly back to the lettuce.

Across the store Emma can see the cashier watching them, his eyes narrowed suspiciously at the brunette. He has his hand on the telephone, ready to call for reinforcements should the woman make so much as a single wrong move. Emma notices Regina's eyes dart up, catch sight of the look on the cashier's face. She meets his angry eyes briefly and then drops her gaze, a scowl twisting her features.

"Never mind," she mutters. She drops her basket, turns on her heel and slams out of the store.

Emma walks over to Regina's basket to examine the contents. There's not much in there, just a loaf of bread and a tube of toothpaste. After a moment Emma picks up the head of lettuce Regina was just examining. Suddenly inspired, she starts tossing vegetables in the basket at random. Bell peppers, mushrooms, zucchini, carrots, tomatoes, spinach. Then branching out, a package of chicken breasts, a slice of beef. A block of cheese. An assortment of fruits.

She knows Regina can cook.

She dives into the middle isles of the grocery store, grinning as she snags a box of licorice spice tea from an upper shelf. Spaghetti noodles and a jar of pasta sauce. Taco shells, rice, a bag of pretzels. She's having fun now.

Fifteen minutes later she hauls two overflowing baskets to the till and drops them with a huff.

She leaves the bags of groceries on Regina's front steps. She's not eager to repeat the humiliating meeting that occurred last time she knocked on the woman's door. She heads back to her family's small apartment, empty-handed, but with a small, satisfied smile playing on the corner of her mouth, a renewed bounce in her step.

In the kitchen Mary Margaret looks at her quizzically. "Weren't you going for groceries?" she asks.


	12. Chapter 12

Emma sits in the driver's seat of the police cruiser. The rain pounding on the metal roof of the car drowns out the sound of her fingers which are tapping impatiently on the cold steering wheel.

She's parked outside the school. Henry normally makes his own way home at the end of his classes, but today the heavy, cold rain is flooding the streets, overflowing the gutters, and Emma thought she'd swing by and give the kid a lift. Keep him from getting soaked through, from catching a cold or something.

But he has another visitor.

Henry stands under an overhang at the edge of the school, close to the brick and concrete wall, doing his best to stay out of the splashing downpour. Huddled beside him in a black trench coat and tall black boots is his mother.

Regina's head is tipped intently down towards her son. She's speaking, lips moving quickly, forming word after word, but Emma can see the softness in her face. The vulnerability. The awkward longing. Even from here, from across the street and through the rain, Emma can see the internal struggle. This is a woman who wants to grab her son, hold him close. Spirit him away and never let him go. And yet she's trying to be better. Trying to give him space, to allow him to come to her. Emma feels an unexpected flash of pride.

She watches the back of Henry's head, the curl of his shoulders under his heavy backpack. He's speaking now, looking up at his mother, and Regina is nodding. Smiling an awkward smile that brings a tiny sparkle to her dark eyes, causing Emma's heart to constrict painfully.

Emma is happy for Henry. He deserves this, deserves the love of both of his mothers. And yet there's a tiny twist of jealousy too, that Regina can smile at him and not at her. Never at her, not anymore.

Henry is telling a story now, his arms gesturing broadly, and the corners of Regina's lips lift again. If her eyes look a little watery, well, Emma figures she can blame it on the rain.

And then Regina is popping open a large black umbrella. She reaches out a hand, and after a moment of hesitation Henry takes it, allows her to pull him to her side. Regina drops her arm immediately but he stays close, and together they step out into the rain.

Henry is still chatting, and Regina nods absently as she steers them around a puddle and out of the school yard. Dark eyes snap up and catch sight of Emma, notice her watching them through the semi-fogged windows of her cruiser.

Their eyes hold. And then Emma lifts the corner of her mouth in a small smile, waggles her fingers in an inane wave that she immediately feels embarrassed about. But Regina merely nods at her briskly before turning her attention back to their son.

Emma watches them go.

xxx

When Emma comes across a figure leaning against the railing on top of the seawall, for a split second she has no idea who it is. But she'd know the delicate curve of that neck anywhere.

The sky is heavy with moisture. The clouds have been spitting a light drizzle off and on all day, but for now there's just a hint of swirling fog, of water droplets clinging heavily to any metal surface. The tide is out and the air is tinged with the smell of seaweed and decaying sea creatures.

Emma stops, takes a moment to study the lone figure gazing out to sea.

Regina is wearing a pair of plain black yoga pants, similar to the ones Emma had seen on her back in Boston. She has a black rain jacket zipped up tightly under her chin, the hood hanging unused over her shoulders. Perhaps most startling of all is her hair, which is pulled back in a simple pony tail. A few strands have escaped the tie, and as Emma watches Regina reaches up with absent fingers to tuck a damp curl behind her ear.

After a moment of hesitation, Emma picks her way down to the path that runs the length of the sea wall and comes to stand beside the figure in black. She leans her forearms on the railing, mimicking the posture of the woman beside her, and allows her eyes to drift off to the horizon, barely visible through the grey mist.

They stand that way for probably close to a minute before Regina finally heaves a heavy sigh and pushes off the railing, straightening to her full height.

"What do you want, Miss Swan?" Her voice is quiet, tired.

"I guess I'm wondering how you're doing? How you're holding up?" Emma asks softly.

Emma straightens as well, allows her eyes to drift briefly over Regina's body. The other woman's face is free from make-up, and she's looking somehow both younger and more beautiful, but also older and more tired at the same time. The dark circles under the beautiful black eyes, the tight lines at the corner of a taught mouth, the casual pants and rain jacket, all add up to a strange and fascinating contradiction, and Emma finds herself staring.

"How I'm holding up," Regina repeats slowly, turning the words over in her mouth as if attempting to discern their meaning.

"Well, yeah. You left town, lost your memories, lived a whole different life. Then your mother came, brought you back, you got your memories back and you banished her to another realm. It's been a crazy couple of months."

"Indeed." Regina's dark eyes are deep, unreadable.

"I just..." Emma shrugs helplessly, at a loss for words. "I guess I just want to know how you're doing now that you're back."

Regina's eyes flicker across Emma's face. She takes a step forward, closing in on Emma's space as seems to be her habit. Emma can see the droplets of mist clinging to Regina's eyelashes, the quick dilation of her pupils as she tips her chin up and looks at Emma with intense eyes.

When she speaks, Regina's voice is low, raspy. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe I didn't want to come back? Maybe I didn't want these memories? This life?"

Emma shakes her head, dumbfounded. It hadn't really occurred to her, no. She had been focused on getting Regina back to Storybrooke, back to their son. She hadn't particularly considered Regina's wishes on the matter, she'd just assumed it was for the best. For everyone.

"No, you didn't think about that, did you, dear?" Regina's voice is biting now, accusing.

"Hey," Emma leans forward, meeting Regina's intensity, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "I was thinking about _Henry_."

"Henry is better off without me." The words are flat, hollow, and Emma can see the pain that they cause flickering in the beautiful eyes boring into hers.

"That's bullshit," she states calmly. "Henry's confused right now, trying to figure out right and wrong. Which, by the way, is something all kids struggle with. But he loves you. And he does need you."

Regina turns abruptly away, casting her gaze back out over the water. There are tears pooling in her eyes, those vulnerable eyes that remind Emma of the woman she'd gotten to know in another city. Emma notes a slight quivering to Regina's lower lip as the other woman tries desperately to pull herself back together. It pulls at Emma's heartstrings in a way she would never have imagined two months ago.

Regina wraps shaking hands around the railing, leaning forward slightly as if the weight of the world is overwhelming at the moment. And perhaps it is.

Emma steps up beside her, places her own hands on the railing and allows her shoulder to brush up against her companion. Regina startles slightly and jerks away, but Emma follows, rests her shoulder more firmly against Regina's warm body.

This time Regina lets it stay. Emma can feel the warmth between them, the faint tingling that is their combined magic. The heat of their connection, the pounding of her heart.

"What do you want, Miss Swan?" Regina repeats the question that started their conversation. Her eyes are unfocussed, drifting out over the water.

"I want my friend back," Emma says softly.

"I don't do _friends_." Regina chokes on the word but there is no venom in her voice, just a great sense of weariness. And then, after a long pause, she admits softly, "I don't know how."

"Yes you do," Emma counters. "You make a great friend."

She wraps her fingers briefly around Regina's cold fist. Feels the familiar spark between them, the catch in her breath and jump of her heart. And then she slides her hand away and steps back. She pauses a moment, waits for a response that she knows she won't get, then turns her back to the ocean and to the figure standing alone in the grey drizzle.

xxx

They nag at Emma. Those hollow, defeated words. _Did you stop to think that maybe I didn't want to come back?_

They irk her too, because she realizes that Regina is right. She hadn't stopped to think about Regina's wishes, hadn't bothered to have any consideration for Regina at all. She had just forced herself upon a naive woman with no memories, no experiences to protect herself.

Cora would have found Regina regardless, Emma knows this. And part of her feels justified in her actions because if she hadn't broken Regina's curse, the woman would have been in another land by now, serving her ruthless mother, still sweet and simple and unable to stand up for herself.

And yet her actions fill her with shame. She'd had all the information, held all the cards. Regina had been innocent, in the dark. Regina had made a choice for herself, and Emma had taken that choice away.

_Did you stop to think that maybe I didn't want to come back?_

"Dammit!" Emma mutters out loud. She pushes back her desk chair, grabs her jacket, checks to ensure that her gun and badge are strapped securely to her belt, and stomps out into the spring rain.

This time when she knocks on the ostentatious white door it is with a steely determination, a clear purpose in mind.

The Regina who answers the door looks irritated, waspish. She tilts her head, snips out a frustrated, "Sheriff, don't you ever work?"

Emma ignores the jab. She holds out her hands, palms spread, and fills her voice with all the sincerity and regret that has been accumulating since their talk on the sea wall the previous afternoon.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Sorry that you're not working?" Regina replies with dark annoyance.

"No. I'm sorry that I took away your choice. Your freedom. That was wrong, and... I'm sorry."

For a moment Regina's eyes meet hers, startled, wide and vulnerable, and then they close down, once again hard and unreadable. "I suppose you'd better come in," she allows.

xxx

Regina swallows her nervousness as she turns away from the open door. She hears a few footsteps, then a muffled snick as the latch slides into place, the door shutting firmly behind them. Knowing that Emma will follow, she moves as smoothly as she can into her large, brightly-lit kitchen.

She doesn't ask, just plugs in the electric kettle and sets some water to boil. She retrieves two mugs from the cupboard, elaborate china pieces with an abstract pattern of leaves and apples emblazoned on the sides, and drops a bag of licorice tea into each mug.

There's no way she's sharing a tea pot with this woman. Individual mugs will have to do.

The task keeps her busy, hides her shaking hands.

It was the tea that had been her undoing. Not the bags of groceries she'd discovered late that night on her door step. Not the haphazard ingredients that had nonetheless led to several nice meals, and which had left, perhaps, just the merest ghost of a smile on her face. It was not the plea for friendship on a damp, brine-filled afternoon.

It was the tea.

She'd never been a tea drinker. Tea was her mother's thing. She had tended to keep some formal teas in her cupboard for entertaining purposes, not that she ever had much company. The box of licorice spice tea, tucked at the bottom of a brown paper grocery bag, had caught her completely by surprise.

She had tucked it into her cupboard and tried to forget about it, but it had called to her. And so, on a late, stormy spring night she had brewed herself a pot.

The smell of the licorice spice, the scented steam wafting from the tea cup, had curled comfortably into her nostrils. She had inhaled deeply, her first deep breath since leaving Boston. Since returning to Storybrooke. To her memories. To the life she had forged for herself, a life that she now feared would bind her and trap her.

But the tea had awakened something deep within. Something primal, yet something gentle. Closing her eyes, she had held the mug close to her chest. Inhaled the sweet spiciness. And she had cried.

She had cried for the woman she'd left behind in Boston. Despite the discomfort of having no memories, of being unsure and confused, she had been content. Life had been simple. And so she'd cried.

Cried too for the losses and the gains. For her damaged relationship with her son that is slowly being rebuilt. For the relief of having disposed of her mother, at least for the time being. And yes, cried too for the blonde woman who is now hovering awkwardly on the threshold of her kitchen.

Her mind had tumbled over the scenarios, the options. Leave again? Plan better this time, disappear more thoroughly? Or stick it out. Mend things with Henry, try to find a new place in this too-small, too-complicated town.

By the time her tears had dried her tea was cool enough to drink and she was feeling calm, almost at peace. She had padded across her empty house and settled down at the large, sterile desk in her office. The soft, spicy smell had made the room seem more welcoming somehow, and she'd sipped gently from the mug as she'd picked up a pen and paper and composed a letter.

The letter went out in the mail this morning, addressed to Beth Davies. Her friend Beth. Back in Boston. In the letter she had apologized for leaving so suddenly. Said that she was okay, asked Beth not to worry about her. Asked after Beth's children. And stated, of all things, that Regina missed her. Because she finds that, surprisingly enough, she does.

She misses her little apartment. She misses the diner, her regular customers. She misses the sounds of the traffic, of people hurrying from place to place.

These are simple things, and while she misses them in a somewhat nostalgic fashion, she finds that she doesn't truly long for them. She had them, and now she doesn't, and she's okay with that. She's a more complicated person than the woman she was back in Boston. And she's okay with that too.

The part that she's not okay with, not even remotely, are her confusing and sometimes overwhelming emotions that center around one Emma Swan.

Who is now standing behind her, twitching nervously, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

The kettle whistles and she unplugs it with a firm hand. She pours the hot water into the two mugs, taking care not to spill. She replaces the kettle. Takes a deep breath. Ensures that she has a firm grip on the handles of the mugs, then turns to face her adversary.

There is an island in the middle of her kitchen. More of a high table really, with wooden legs and a marble counter top. She sets one mug of tea down at the end of the island furthest from the sink and retreats quickly, setting her own mug down on the opposite side, careful to keep the comforting bulk of the marble slab between herself and the blonde.

She lifts the mug between two hands and brings it to her face. Allows the steam to bathe her features, to calm her nerves.

She catches movement across the kitchen. Dark footwear stepping forward, long fingers grasping the other mug. A word delivered in a soft voice. "Thanks."

Despite herself Regina finds her eyes creeping up, taking in the woman standing across the island. Emma's eyes are hooded, her features drawn, cheekbones popping out in stark relief to the rest of her worried face. Mimicking Regina's gesture, Emma lifts her mug, inhales the steaming spices.

Emma smiles. It's a tight smile, but it brings a hint of warmth to her grey-green eyes nonetheless. "Licorice spice," she observes.

Regina nods once, sharply, and returns her attention to the tea nestled between her cold fingers. Safe and warm. Comforting. Protective.

Regina watches from her peripheral vision as Emma blows on her tea to cool it. Takes a small sip, and then another. The blonde leans down, props her elbows on the marble surface, stares deeply into her mug. For the moment she seems content to remain quiet and Regina finds herself relaxing just a fraction. Breathing a little deeper.

She's not sure how much time passes in this fashion. Five minutes? Ten? There is a muted patter on the roof, more spring rain. A clock ticking in the foyer. The soft humming of the refrigerator.

"So I've been thinking," Emma says finally, and Regina startles at the sudden intrusion into the silence.

"It wasn't fair, what I did," the blonde continues. "I had all the information. You had none. You were forced to make a choice, but you didn't know what the choice was you were making."

After a moment Regina nods. She doesn't like this description of herself, this implied vulnerability and simplicity, even if it's essentially accurate. She hadn't known who Killian was, or what her mother was planning. She'd simply let them drag her along, more out of spite for Emma's perceived betrayal than anything else.

As she remembers the feeling of betrayal, a flush of anger spreads outwards from her chest and Regina feels her mouth tighten involuntarily. Instinctively she lashes out verbally, her long-ingrained habit of protecting any weaknesses kicking in automatically.

"The members of your family have always been known for impulsive decision making," she retorts. "And that decision making never takes into account the wishes, or choices, of anyone else. Snow White and her _charming_ _family_ must always know best, after all." The words are hard, sarcastic.

Emma's eyes flash, her brows draw together. Her voice raises slightly, takes on a firm tone. "This from the woman who cursed an entire kingdom. You took away _everyone's_ choices, Regina." She sets her tea down on the counter with a firm thunk.

"I suppose we're even then," the dark-haired woman says calmly.

"Even? How is that even?" Emma barks out.

Regina tilts her head, a small, bitter smirk twisting the corner of her mouth. "Who came here to apologize to whom, hm?"

She can see Emma's jaw working, her teeth grinding together. After a moment the blonde shakes herself, forces her jaw to relax. "You're right. I don't think it makes us even, but that's not the point. Just because you took away our choices, doesn't mean I had a right to take away yours."

"That's probably the lousiest apology I've ever been given," Regina says darkly.

Emma stares at her for a moment, and then suddenly she snorts, a bubble of hysterical laughter rising from her chest. She looks slightly alarmed by her outburst, but Regina feels as if a weight is beginning to lift.

She sets her tea down as well.

"Are you..." Emma trails off, takes a moment to collect herself and then tries again. "Are you going to leave again?"

There is a waver of fear in Emma's voice, of uncertainty. For a moment Regina toys with letting the question hang. With the threat of leaving yet again, but doing it better this time. Going further. Just to spite the irritating blonde standing in her kitchen with those large, pleading eyes.

But that's not the decision she came to, and Regina is trying to be better. More honest. For Henry's sake, of course, and perhaps also for her own. And so she needs to tell the truth.

"I don't suppose there's any point, is there?" Regina drops her voice to an irritated rasp. "You'd just chase me down again." She meets the blonde's eyes firmly, defiantly.

Emma's instant smile is electric and, against her will, Regina feels her heart catch painfully.

"You bet I would," Emma grins. There is light in her eyes now and despite herself Regina finds herself drawn in, falling.

Regina lets the moment hang, soaking in the unexpected warmth.

She's realizing that there are more sides to Emma Swan than she had originally assumed.

She thinks of the Emma she first met, an argumentative, immature, abrasive woman who had stormed into town, disrupted numerous lives, and usurped the affections of her son. And then she thinks of the Emma she knew in Boston. Warmth and consideration in the place of rudeness and disregard. Sweetness. Caring.

And she can see now that this is the real Emma. Gentle, sometimes awkward, generally well-intentioned. The exact sort of person that, in fact, had always set Regina's teeth on edge. The sort of person who will always try to do the right thing. The sort of person who will stick by others with unwavering loyalty.

The sort of person who, it turns out, could make a really good friend.

Emma tilts her head. "So," she asks, as if reading the dark-haired woman's thoughts. "Friends?"

Regina shrugs. Friends it is.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N So a quick word about Henry. He's been awful to Regina, but she has also been awful at times to him - she wasn't honest with him, and she was pretty hard on him when he started to figure out the truth. For those of us who love Regina (like me!), it's sometimes hard to remember that from the outside, from the point of view of those whose lives she destroyed or irrevocably altered, the idea of her raising a child would be very upsetting. Regina murdered Graham last season, and ripped out the heart of Snow's most loyal servant in order to force Mary Margaret to do her mother's bidding. Would anyone want their son, or _any child_, to be raised by a woman who did these sorts of things?

But I'm an "Evil Regal". I admit that freely. And I believe that Regina is basically good at heart. I believe she can change. I believe she can be worthy of her son. And, forget about how the show is writing her, that's how _I'm_ writing her.

I know many people feel that Henry's being a jerk or a brat (and I don't deny that he definitely a brat at times!), and many of us feel that Henry should have to repent, should have to earn his mother back. But here's the thing with kids - if we are good parents, we love our children unconditionally. And I'm going on the premise here that Regina is basically a good parent underneath everything else and she wants to do right by her son. She loves him, unconditionally, no matter what.

Kids hurt their parents, both intentionally and unintentionally, all the time. (As a parent of an eleven-year-old myself I am very familiar with this. I'm also aware just how amazing children are.)

So in this story Henry will not need to repent. He will not need to grovel to get his mother back. No child should ever have to grovel for the love of their parent(s). I think Regina probably grovelled and begged for her mother's love, but she never got it. Not really. And look what we got - Evil Queen, damaged person. And so this is where she's better than her mother. She _can_ love, and she _does_ love. She will accept Henry and will love him, unconditionally, no matter what.

Okay, getting off my soap box now. I've been getting a fair number of comments about Henry and I just wanted to explain why I'm going where I am with him and his relationship with Regina. Thanks for reading y'all!


	13. Chapter 13

Emma has had enough of winter. It's March, she's ready for spring. And yet this morning she had woken up to snow on the ground. Over six inches of wet, heavy snow.

With a disgruntled sigh she had pulled on her winter coat, grabbed her hat and mitts, and trudged through the snow to the sheriff's station. By the time she'd gotten to work her feet were damp and her mood was sour. After confirming that there were no messages or pending emergencies, she'd grabbed a snow shovel and joined the dozen other residents and small business owners out shoveling their sidewalks.

Now nearly halfway finished her task, she plants her feet firmly and heaves another heavy shovelful of snow off of the sidewalk and into the gutter. The temperature is already climbing and the snow is wet and extremely heavy.

If this were Boston, the city would have cleaned up after the snowfall. But here in sleepy little Storybrooke, with its small tax base and nearly twenty-nine years under a frugal mayor, the citizens are left responsible for keeping the walkways fronting on their houses and businesses free from ice and snow.

The town's single snow plow finally trundles down the street, clearing the way for vehicle traffic. Leroy is behind the wheel, directing the old plow as it beeps and chugs along in a slow, steady manner. As it passes her the plow swerves, sending a cascade of wet, muddy snow flying over the gutter.

Emma leaps back just in time to avoid being caught in the slushy avalanche. She swears, looks up just in time to see Leroy's cheeky smile as he shifts the plow into a higher gear and pulls away.

With narrowed eyes Emma backtracks and begins to shovel her stretch of sidewalk. Again.

She's just finished clearing the sidewalk for the second time when her phone rings. This is a new phone, she'd left the old one plugged into the wall in her mad rush to leave Boston, and she fumbles for a few seconds to answer it. She's hot and sweaty under her thick winter coat, somewhat out of breath, and extremely irritated.

The voice on the other end of the phone is abrupt and not altogether welcome. "Miss Swan, I require your assistance."

"Now Regina? I just finished shoveling the sidewalk. I was going to get some coffee." She realizes that her voice sounds petulant, but she can't bring herself to care.

"I need you here first," Regina insists. There is a pause, and then, "Perhaps I could supply the coffee," she allows.

"Okay," Emma agrees with a sigh.

"Oh and Miss Swan, bring your shovel."

xxx

Leroy and his plow haven't yet made their way to Mifflin Street so Emma simply pulls the cruiser off to the side of the road and turns on her hazard lights. There are benefits to driving a cop car, after all. She slides out of the front seat, wincing at the unpleasantness of her damp jeans and wet toes, and retrieves the snow shovel from the back of the vehicle.

She swings the shovel onto her shoulder and, feeling rather disgruntled, stomps through the heavy snow on Regina's front walk.

Regina is standing on her covered front porch, well away from the wet snow. She's wearing boots and a parka. Her hair is back in that cute pony tail that serves to drive Emma to distraction. The expression on her face, however, is anything but cute.

The dark-haired woman's nose is wrinkled in disgust as she surveys the white mess in her front yard. Her eyes are dark, her face unreadable. There is a steaming mug in her hands.

"Did you need to borrow this?" Emma calls out as she draws near.

"No," comes the cryptic response.

Emma stops, confused. "If you have your own snow shovel, why do you need mine?"

"I don't have one."

Emma has had a crappy morning already and she has no patience for this verbal back and forth. She sinks the tip of the shovel into the snow, hearing a clang as it hits the paved walkway underneath, and waits.

After a moment Regina concedes. "I used to hire a boy to shovel my walkways as required. But he is... unavailable... at the moment."

Emma can read between the lines. Most of the townsfolk still won't come anywhere near Regina, and she realizes suddenly what a lonely, isolated life this woman must be living.

"So you need to borrow my shovel to-"

Regina cuts her off, sweeping her hand through the air. "I need to borrow _you,_ Miss Swan." She wraps her jacket more tightly around her middle and continues. "City bylaw 18-4a requires that all citizens clear overnight snowfalls from the walkways adjacent to their properties by 10am the next day. It's nearly 10am now, so if you could please get started..."

As the words sink in Emma blinks at her, incredulous. She feels a hot flush of anger creeping up her chest, and she's sure her cheeks are bright red. She registers a pain in her jaw and realizes that she's clenching her teeth together.

"Why is it my responsibility to shovel _your_ walkway?" she finally spits out. Of her own volition she feels her feet drawing her stiffly forward, the magnetic pull towards this woman as strong as ever, even in anger.

"Really Sheriff, isn't it your job to help townsfolk in need?"

Emma opens her mouth but nothing comes out. Her traitorous feet have now carried her to the bottom of the step at the edge of Regina's front porch. She looks up at long eyelashes and a perfect jaw line. Why does this woman have to be so damned beautiful all the time?

She notices a tiny twitching at the corner of the sculpted red lips.

Is Regina teasing her?

At another time the possibility might be intriguing. But on this morning, wet, sweaty, and still without her first cup of coffee, Emma just feels irritation. She narrows her eyes, blows out an angry puff of breath.

After a moment Regina relents. "Alright then, if you're not here to help out a citizen in need, perhaps you could help out a... friend?" She stumbles on the last word but holds steady, calmly gazing into Emma's eyes. There is a flush on her cheeks, a slight crease between her brows that betrays her nervousness.

Emma's anger fades as the words register. Something warm starts in her belly and she can feel her spirits lifting. Apparently it's just that simple. She nods, ducks her head in an attempt to hide what she's sure is a stupid grin, and hefts the snow shovel onto her shoulder again. But before she can move off Regina stops her.

"Wait," she says. Three quick steps bring the dark-haired woman to the edge of her porch. "Your coffee."

Emma reaches up to take the steaming mug from the other woman's outstretched hand. As her fingers come in contact with the ceramic their eyes catch again and they both freeze, the mug resting between their shared grasps. The hint of uncertainty, of vulnerability in Regina's causes Emma's heart to jump. She takes a deep, shaky breath, feeling herself falling into dilated black pupils, into beautiful brown eyes.

There is a sudden crash and they both leap back, startled, as the mug hits the edge of the porch. It shatters, splashing droplets of coffee on both their pant legs. Regina stands, wide-eyed, staring at the pieces of ceramic and brown coffee staining the snow.

"Oh shit, sorry!" Emma blurts out. She starts to bend down, reaching towards the handle of the mug which is lying in the snow.

Regina gathers herself quickly and waves Emma off. "I've got it," she says calmly. "My fault."

"Okay. Well." Emma straightens, clears her throat awkwardly. "Then I guess I'm just gonna go and..."

She gestures over her shoulder with her thumb and takes a few stilted steps away, desperate to put some distance between herself and the intriguing, irritating, incredible woman in front of her.

Regina bends smoothly and begins to clean up the mess. Emma stumbles, and realizes with a start that she's still staring. She forces herself to turn around, to look away. She takes a deep, fortifying breath, and tries empty her thoughts. She swings the shovel into action, working away at the heavy snow.

xxx

It's probably close to fifteen minutes before the dark-haired woman returns. Emma has reached the end of the walkway leading up to the house and has turned ninety degrees to start on the sidewalk.

Regina is holding two mugs this time. She has changed her pants, her legs showing no sign of the spill. She is composed now, calm, no trace of the earlier emotions on her face. She pointedly sets one of the mugs down at the edge of the porch, then backs away with the other mug still in her hands.

Emma smiles gratefully. She leans her shovel against a hedge, wrinkling her nose at the small avalanche of wet snow that is dislodged from the resilient green foliage, and strides up the freshly cleared walkway to claim her coffee.

She gulps down half the mug in three large swallows. A happy moan escapes from the back of her throat. She's pleased to find the coffee cool enough to drink and full of milk and sugar. Just how she likes it. She takes another smaller sip, more conservative this time.

Her nose catches a waft of spices and she looks up to find Regina's eyes on her. The dark-haired woman's gaze is open, her eyes soft. Regina notices her looking and immediately her face closes, her eyes slide back down to her own mug.

A small gust of wind delivers another hint of spices. Regina is drinking licorice tea. Of course. Emma smiles.

Regina dips her head and a strand of hair falls into her face. She reaches up with tapered fingers to tuck it behind her ear. This time when dark eyes dart up it's Regina's turn to catch Emma staring.

Emma gives her a wry smile, somewhat amused at how obvious she's being, and takes another long sip of coffee. Then she carefully sets the mug back down on the edge of the porch and nods to her benefactor.

"Thanks," she says simply before turning and striding back to her shovel, intent on finishing the walkway and getting back to the station. Today is still a work day, after all.

She's almost finished when she hears the sound of hustling footfalls and the heavy panting of someone running up the street.

"Emma! Hi Emma!" It's Henry. He's jogging towards her, slipping and sliding in patches of slick snow, backpack bumping from shoulder to shoulder as he runs.

Emma rests the blade of her shovel on the ground again and waves at him. "Hey kid. Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

"Nope!" he exclaims, sliding to a halt beside her. "Leroy drove the snowplow into the power pole in front of the school and the power's out! It's all dark and cold inside, so they told us all to go home!"

"Leroy _what?_" Regina's annoyed voice rings out clearly in the cool air, and moments later she is striding around the edge of the hedge and onto the sidewalk to join them.

"Hi Mom," Henry greets her, looking momentarily shy.

"Hello Henry," Regina returns, her face softening. And then it tightens again as she says, "Are you telling me that Leroy destroyed city property this morning?"

"Yup," Henry grins, looking pleased and decidedly more at ease.

Regina starts to move, a coil of tight energy, ready to swoop down on the scene, to restore order. But then she seems to realize that it's no longer her place to do so. She stops, completely at a loss, and looks at the two of them helplessly.

With a start, Emma says, "I should probably go take a look, huh? As the sheriff, I guess should be there."

"Don't worry Emma," Henry tells her. "There are a ton of people there already. They wouldn't let us go home until they knew that they couldn't get the power back on quick. There's two trucks from the power company, and city worker guys, and a fire truck and, like, ten firemen... And Ms. Blanchard is outside telling everyone what to do!"

Regina grimaces. Emma glances over at her and then shrugs. "Sounds like it's under control then. I have my cell, they can call me if they need me."

Regina nods, still looking slightly unsettled.

"Hey kid, how did you know to find me here?" Emma turns back to her son.

"I didn't," he says. "You weren't home, and you weren't at the sheriff station, and so I thought instead..." His voice trails off and he looks suddenly shy again. Glancing up at his mother through his bangs – still too long, and Emma makes a mental note that she really needs to get him a haircut – he says, "I kind of thought instead I might come see what Mom was up to."

The melting in Regina's face is instantaneous as she looks down on her son with joyful, astonished eyes.

Emma smiles. "Well, you found us both. Although I really should finish this sidewalk and then I do need to get back to work."

Henry looks disappointed. "Do you really have to? Can't you take a snow day too?"

Emma looks at him, feeling suddenly crappy about having to turn him down. She glances over at Regina, wondering how to best let him down gently. Dark eyes meet hers above their son's head.

Regina appears to be thinking, and after a moment she suggests in a slow, calm voice, "Yes Sheriff, can't you take a snow day too?"

Emma blinks at her, astonished. Then she narrows her eyes. She quickly tips the handle of her shovel to rest on the hedge again, then bends down and scoops up a handful of snow. She packs the heavy, wet slush into a hasty ball, and before the dark-haired woman can comprehend what is going on, the snowball is flying in her direction.

The snowball hits Regina's parka with a slushy splatter, just above her waist. Fine features darken, grow thunderous, and Emma backs up rapidly, cursing herself for giving in to her sudden impulse.

But then Regina bends, and before Emma knows it a snowball connects with her shoulder, exploding in a spray of cold slush that soaks the side of her face.

She grimaces. The wet snow feels awful. "Hey!" she exclaims with mild annoyance, "Not the face!"

Regina shrugs. "Not my fault I have better aim than you."

Emma freezes again, unsure about this suddenly playful side of Regina. She's liking it, but she's also very, very afraid to push it.

Then a second snowball hits the back of her neck, delivering a spray of cold ice down her the collar of her jacket. "Ack!" She turns to find Henry grinning at her wildly.

"Alright," she says, gritting her teeth with determination. "You're on."

xxx

It turns out that Regina squeals, high-pitched and girly, when snow comes in contact with her bare skin. Emma loves this sound. It sends a delighted tingle racing through her body, a little surge of feeling like she's doing something vaguely naughty. And getting away with it.

Henry pretty much just shrieks and screams all the time, except when he's doubled over in a fit of giggling. Finally his two mothers team up and advance on him together. Emma holds him down in the snow while Regina trickles wet slush gently on his face. A glob on his forehead, another on his cheek.

He's laughing so hard that Emma can barely hold him. He jerks and squeals happily, twisting in her grasp so that the next glob of snow lands in his ear.

Finally he gasps out, "Uncle! Uncle!"

"Try again," Regina says dryly, and delivers another bit of slush to his neck. He shivers and yelps.

"Mom! Mom!" he calls out.

Regina backs up immediately, looking both startled and pleased at the same time. Henry grins up at her, his brown eyes sparkling.

Then a stronger shiver runs through his body. Emma notices that his teeth are clattering together and his lips are almost blue. Regina sees this at the same time and leans down to help him up.

"Henry, you're soaked through." If her reprimand is meant to be scalding, she falls short of her mark. "Inside, and into the bath with you."

Henry leans heavily against his mother as she guides them up the shoveled walkway towards the house.

"Aw Mom, can't I have a shower? I'm too big for baths. Emma never makes me take a bath."

Dark eyes meet Emma's briefly, but there is no judgment in them. "Alright then, into the shower with you," Regina says firmly.

Henry nods. They've reached the bottom of the stairs and he pushes away from her suddenly, but it's not a dismissive gesture. Instead he's throwing open the front door and pounding into the house, eager to get out of his wet clothes.

"Everything wet left in the foyer!" Regina calls out.

"I know!" Henry's voice echoes through the open door.

Emma looks away from where their son disappeared to meet Regina's faintly amused gaze. Emma notices that her dark hair is damp, and the loose bits that have escaped her pony tail cling wetly to her face and neck. Her cheeks are flushed, and there is a sparkle in her eyes. Emma is instantly taken back to that snowy day in Boston. To the memory of this woman standing in front of her, open and beautiful under the light of the stars.

She takes an involuntary step forward.

Regina takes a sudden, sharp breath and looks away, breaking eye contact. Her voice is slightly choked as she gestures to the front door and says, "After you, Miss Swan."


	14. Chapter 14

Emma picks up her phone and dials Regina's number from memory. It rings exactly three times before a smooth voice answers.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me." Emma is nearly bursting with excitement and it bubbles out in her voice. She's been waiting all day to make this phone call. "Do you want Henry tonight?" she asks happily.

It's barely mid-afternoon but it's been a long day for her already. A wind storm hit the town starting in the wee hours of the morning, the kind of wind that they usually see only in the fall. The kind of wind that has garbage cans bouncing down the street and shingles flying off rooftops, that tears giant branches off trees and throws huge waves up and over the seawall.

All day she's been running around dealing with one minor emergency after another. Rerouting traffic around downed power lines. Helping secure plastic over a roof where a tree branch had punched right through. Tracking down a child who had wandered off of the school grounds in search of her blown away hat.

She's cold, and physically exhausted from battling the wind that feels like it's trying to knock her flat off her feet every time she steps out of doors. But now she has five minutes to herself, finally, and now she is doing something that she's been looking forward to all day.

This morning Henry had suggested, in a casual tone of voice, that he might like to start spending time at his mom's house again. The snowball fight seems to have shifted things. He's been pensive the past few days, thoughtful. And then this morning, over cereal and a glass of orange juice, he'd tossed out a suggestion. Maybe he could start spending a few nights a week 'back home'. He's still got a bunch of clothing there after all, he had reasoned, and books and stuff.

Emma had nodded, turned away to hide her smile. Met David's worried eyes across the kitchen and given him a shake of her head. This was her call to make. Hers and Henry's. And Regina's.

Emma has been bursting with this news all day. She feels like she's gifting a present, one that she knows the other woman will be happy to receive. She can't wait to hear Regina's reaction. So she's blurted out her offer, and now she waits. The pause on the other end of the phone drags on and Emma is about to repeat herself when the dark-haired woman's smooth voice cuts in.

"Do I want Henry tonight," Regina echoes, speaking the words slowly and with great care.

"Yeah," Emma confirms. She bounces on her feet a few times, trying to warm her toes, glad to be out of the biting wind.

"Are you tired of him, Miss Swan?"

It takes the words a moment to register, and when they do Emma sputters out a confused response. "What? No, of course not!"

"Are you getting tired of being a parent then? Of having to be home for your child?" Regina's voice is flat, deadly calm, as she continues. "Do you have a better offer? A _hot date_, perhaps?"

"Regina! No." Emma clenches her fist in frustration. One moment this woman is friendly. Sweet and fun and gentle. The next she's nasty, downright mean. Emma can't keep up, and quite frankly she's getting tired of it.

Emma counts to ten in her head, a tactic Mary Margaret has suggested she use when Henry digs his heels in about something until she's about to explode. And it occurs to her, as she's counting, that Regina has one hell of a defense mechanism built around herself. The people of the town haven't exactly welcomed her back. She seems to be expecting trouble, expecting to be hurt.

Regina's best defense seems to be a good offense. Attack first, ask questions later. This is the tactic of someone who has been hurt dreadfully and repeatedly in the past, and Emma feels a tiny twinge of sympathy. Meeting anger with anger has never worked when dealing with this woman, and perhaps she's growing because she really has no desire to start a fight.

Deciding to grant the Regina the benefit of the doubt, she takes a deep breath and elaborates. "He had fun with you in the snow the other day. He wants to try again. He wants to move back home. At least, for part of the time."

She can hear the sudden intake of breath on the other end of the line, and then a shaky exhale. When Regina speaks her words are quiet, subdued. "I'd like that. Thank-you."

"Do you want me to drop him off before dinner?"

"Actually, why don't I pick him up from school. I know you don't get off your shift until five."

Emma examines the words, looking for any hint of condescension or mocking in their tone, but finds nothing. She nods, then realizes that of course the other woman can't see it and so simply says, "Great. He's looking forward to it."

"As am I," the other woman says faintly.

xxx

The letter had arrived this morning. A single page of quick, messy handwriting. An update on Beth's three kids, a sentence about the new waitress at the diner, a comment on the lousy spring weather. And a few cheeky words, jotted at the bottom, asking if anything ever happened with '_that cute blonde chick_'. The letter is signed, '_From your friend, Beth_.'

Regina caresses the paper between her fingers thoughtfully. Having a friend, a real one, is a new concept for her. A foreign concept, really. And now apparently she has two of them.

She glances up involuntarily at the sound of footsteps in the upstairs hallway. She's told Henry not to run in the house more times than she can count, but right now she can't bring herself to care.

Henry had spent the night last night. He had woken up this morning and wandered downstairs in the freshly pressed school clothing she'd lain out for him. The pants are a little short, and he desperately needs a haircut. She wonders if she's allowed to arrange that for him.

This morning he had chatted idly while she fed him a breakfast of scrambled eggs, fruit and pancakes. He'd gone off to school, and then - and this is the most amazing part of all - he'd come back.

Regina glances at the letter one more time before sliding it gently back inside the envelope. She places the envelope into a desk drawer, tucking it away with care. She's not ready to answer the question about Emma quite yet, but she'll write a reply to the rest of it later tonight.

There are footfalls on the stairs, and then brown eyes peeking around the doorway into the office.

"Mom, what happened to the controllers for my Xbox?"

Regina smiles.

xxx

The temperatures are in the mid-fifties, unusually warm for late March. There is a brisk breeze that chills Regina's cheeks and ruffles her hair, but the spring sunshine warming her back feels pleasant and so she stands, relatively content, on the edge of the large, grassy school field.

The field is only just drying out enough to be usable after the long, wet winter. It's still muddy in some spots, but she's managed to convince her two companions to stick to the slightly higher, slightly less muddy end of the grassy expanse.

She draws her jacket more tightly around her middle, more out of habit than for any extra warmth, and she watches her son attempt to catch a football with his somewhat clumsy hands. It slips through his grip, hits the turf and bounces sideways. He rolls his eyes good-naturedly and scampers after it.

He looks good this morning. His hair is freshly cut – Emma had handled that detail, who would have guessed – his eyes are sparkling, and his body is full of happy energy.

Emma Swan stands about fifty feet away from their son, close enough that his wild throws can generally make it at least most of the way to her, but far enough away that he actually feels like he's throwing for real. She has a baseball cap stuck backwards on her head, and it's appealing in a way that Regina finds incredibly distracting. Her eyes drift over the messy blonde hair, caught in a loose pony tail under the cap, shining golden in the sun. She notices the focus in Emma's face, the gentle yet insistent way she coaches their son.

_Hold the ball like this Henry, fingers on the laces. Turn your body to the right, that's it. Move your arm in an arc and step forward as you throw. Yes, like that. Good one!_

Henry is generally pretty terrible at sports, and Regina for the most part has preferred to keep him away from anything with a ball. She likes his teeth intact and his face unbruised, thank you very much. But as she watches him concentrate, teeth biting down on his lower lip, face flushed with fresh air and gentle spring sunshine, she wonders if she's done him a disservice.

And she thinks, perhaps not for the first time, that Emma Swan is a blessing in her son's life.

Henry's throw goes wild and Emma trots across the field to retrieve the ball. Regina's eyes follow her progress. The football has landed near the chain link fence that winds around the border of the school grounds. On the other side of the fence is a line of crocuses, purple and white flowers that had burst into color just a few days prior. The bulbs were planted five years ago in one of her campaigns to beautify the town, and they've been returning year after year, self-multiplying, filling the empty dirt spaces lining the sidewalks around town.

She feels a hint of satisfaction knowing that something of her time as mayor of this town has continued to thrive.

In a few weeks there will be daffodils, and then after that will be the tulips, bright reds and whites and purples. A faint smile flits across her face.

Emma jogs back to the middle of the field, takes a moment to adjust the football so she's gripping it correctly. As she winds her am back for the throw, her gaze drifts over to catch Regina's own. In the sunshine, Emma's eyes glow a startling green and Regina can feel herself caught, falling into those deep, sparkling eyes.

A small smile curls the corner of Emma's mouth. Her hand snaps and the football flies with unerring accuracy directly into Henry's arms. Her eyes remain fixed on Regina the entire time.


	15. Chapter 15

Regina stands in her downstairs hallway gazing into a large, oval mirror with gilded gold trim.

She remembers gazing into this mirror when she had no memories other than those forged during her new life in Boston. She remembers the fear, the uncertainty of that morning. Of this place. Of the woman who claimed to be her mother but from whom she could feel no real love, no honest caring. Just cold calculation.

She remembers thinking how awful the mirror was, just another representation of the cold, ostentatious house she had found herself in, the horrible clothing on her body.

And she remembers even further back, remembers when she had crafted this mirror with her magic and remembers how pleased she had been with its bold beauty, with the wealth and status it represented.

Two conflicting memories from two different people. And yet they both belong to her.

She doesn't know how she feels about the mirror at the moment and so she does her best to ignore it, gazes instead at the woman reflected in the glass.

The woman looking back at her could be a stranger. On her face she can see remnants all the people she has been. In her dark hair is the girl who loved horses, and who loved a stable boy. In the lines on her forehead is a young woman forced into a loveless marriage. The witch and the sorceress can be found in the hardness of her mouth. And in her cheekbones and startling beauty, the queen who had ruled with absolute power and absolute fear.

The remnants of an impeccable haircut show her as the mayor of a small, tightly-run town. The depth in her eyes is mother of a young child, awake and screaming at 4am. And in the faint hint of softness in her expression is the lost, gentle soul wandering the streets of Boston with a blonde companion at her side.

Fine lines are beginning to multiply at the edges of her eyes and mouth, evidence of the stress of the past few months, of the sudden jolt of time marching forward again.

As she studies her reflections she wonders, who is she now?

Somewhere along the way she has lost herself. She knows how to play a role. How to be a strict mother and an even stricter ruler. How to inflict fear and pain. How to follow a path of vengeance with dogged determination. But she's not sure she knows how to _live_.

The woman in Boston, she had known how to live. Instinctively and surely. She had been simple, yes, and could be considered rather boring when compared to the things Regina has been, the roles she's filled in her long lifetime. But that woman in Boston had actually been happy. Truly and honestly happy.

She shakes her head slightly, attempting to clear her thoughts, to banish the layers of the many skins she has worn from her vision.

She stares into her own dark eyes and conjures up her magic.

Magic is emotion. For Regina, magic has always been about hatred. About fear. About power and vengeance.

When the ball of fire springs to life in her open hand it is weaker than normal, a dim flame. She frowns in annoyance, concentrates harder. She tries to find that place inside her, that burning anger, but it feels far away.

She thinks deliberately of the people in this silly little town, of their continued scorn and mistrust, and the flame grows stronger. She nods. She thinks then of her mother, tries to conjure up more anger but the flame flickers, struggles to stay alive.

With a growl, she forces everything she has into the power held in her hand. Her eyes dart back to her reflection in the mirror and she catches another glimpse of the woman she was in Boston. She can almost see Emma Swan at her side. Can almost see them ambling along the docks, can almost feel the simple joy she felt in the other woman's presence.

She thinks of Emma stepping up behind her up on the clock tower that night, remembers the feel of strong fingers on her shoulder, of her calm and reassuring presence.

Instantly the ball of flames in her hand explodes. She flies backwards, slamming her head against the far wall.

It hurts. The flame is out. And there's something wrong with her magic.

xxx

When the call comes in, Emma is leaning back in her desk chair, picking idly at the remnants of a grilled cheese sandwich and flipping through a stack of unfinished reports. She's been trying to find the motivation to get started on her paperwork. To fill out the forms. To place her signature on the bottom, to hand them in for filing.

When Regina was the mayor Emma would never have let her paperwork slide. But no one seems to care these days, and so it's been challenging to find the motivation to get it done. Because what's the point, really?

But she feels guilty about it, and so she's debating with herself, wondering if perhaps if she fills out just one of them she'll feel a little better. Mary Margaret is always telling her to just start somewhere, whether it's housework or cleaning the dishes or picking up after herself and Henry. She just needs to start. But Emma really doesn't feel like starting her paper work, not one bit.

Outside the day is grey and dull, an in-between day. None of harsh power of winter, not the gentle softness of spring. Just greyness. Grey clouds, grey streets, grey buildings.

For some reason it feels grey inside too. And she really doesn't want to do the paperwork.

So when her phone rings she sets the papers aside in relief, but that relief is short-lived. She listens to the slightly panicked explanation on the other end of the line and then is out the door running.

She takes the time to call Regina, a terse, two sentence explanation of where to find them, and then hops into the cruiser and barrels through town.

The new playground is tucked into the woods. It had seemed like an odd location at the time, hidden from town, far away from the waterfront site of the old playground. But it's turned out to be a good place in the summer, protected from the wind and the worst of the sun, cool amongst the trees and the dirt of the forest floor.

She parks the cruiser haphazardly and leaps out, leaving the door hanging open behind her. Henry is propped up, his back leaning against one of the metal posts that supports the castle. She considers this a good sign. The way he's holding his arm however, and the sickly pallor on his face, are not good signs at all.

David is crouched over his grandson, not touching him, just hovering protectively, his phone still dangling forgotten between his fingers.

Emma runs to Henry's other side, the side with the bad arm, and drops to her knees in the dirt. She can see now that the arm is broken, and his shoulder is probably dislocated as well just based on the angle that he's holding it at.

Before she has time to speak, to assess the damage, another car pulls up alongside her own. It's a little black sports car, Regina's replacement for the Mercedes she had sold on her way out of town. That feels like a lifetime ago now.

Regina sprints the distance to where they're sitting and, as inappropriate as it is in this moment, Emma finds her appreciative eyes lingering on the panicked figure. Taking in the smooth way Regina runs, even in ridiculous heels. Noting the pony tail holding her dark hair back from her face, exposing her sinuous neck. Taking in the focus and worry that somehow make the woman's fine features even more lovely.

"What happened?" Regina demands, pushing David none-too-gently out of the way and taking his place at Henry's side. Emma blinks, returns her focus to their son. Emma can tell that Regina wants to touch Henry, wants to reassure him with her physical presence, but without knowing what the damage is she's clearly afraid to make things worse.

David stands, brushes some dirt off his hands, and answers her slowly. "We were playing." He gestures somewhat sheepishly to a pair of wooden swords, abandoned a few feet away.

Regina's eyes flash and he hastens to explain. "Henry was up in the castle. Everything is a little wet, and he must have just slipped and fallen."

There is a vein pulsing in Regina's forehead, and Emma honestly feels just as angry, just as helpless. She's going to let Regina yell, because then she doesn't have to, but Henry's weak voice interrupts them.

"It was my fault," he says. "I wasn't being careful enough."

And then, a moment later, he blurts out, "I think I'm going to throw up."

Emma pulls back, out of the way, but Regina simply leans forward and supports Henry as he vomits up the contents of his stomach.

Now that she's touching him, the dark-haired woman suddenly seems to have a purpose, seems to know what to do. She rubs his back and wipes his mouth with a tissue from her pocket. "Henry, do you think you can stand?" she asks gently.

At his nod she grasps his good arm and helps him to his feet. David hovers helplessly nearby.

Regina gives Emma a pointed look and then nods her head to the cars. "Miss Swan, if you please...?"

"Oh, right!" Emma leaps into action. The sports car is small, low to the ground, and looks difficult to get in and out of. Emma bypasses it entirely and opens the rear passenger side door on the cruiser. She helps Regina settle Henry and then climbs into the driver's seat.

Regina presses a button on her key fob and the little car beeps twice, now locked and secure, before sliding into the passenger seat beside Emma. Her face is drawn, her eyes distant and worried.

"Hospital?" Emma asks.

Regina nods.

xxx

Halfway to the hospital they change course at Regina's quiet suggestion, and a few minutes later Emma is helping Henry out of the car and up the steps leading to Regina's large house. She settles him on the long leather couch in the study and then strides back out into the hall, almost barreling head first into the dark-haired woman. Regina has shed her jacket and shoes and is holding a soft throw blanket in her hands.

"Should I call Doctor Whale?" Emma asks.

The pinched look of disgust that flits across Regina's face makes Emma wonder what her history is with the doctor. Because honestly, it seems like Regina has a history with everyone in this town.

Regina shakes her head sharply. "No. That man is not coming anywhere near my son. _Our_ son."

"So what are we going to-"

"Not _we_, Sheriff. _You_." Regina's words are firm, sure. "You're going to heal him."

"What? How? Regina, I don't have any medical skills, and I sure as hell don't know how to use..." Her voice trails off as she realizes where this is going.

"Regina, I can't use magic! I don't know how!" Emma is feeling panicked now, and a little bit angry. "You should be the one to heal him!"

"I..." Regina trails off and Emma studies her face, seeing the uncertainty for the first time. The fear. "I don't think I can. There's something... _wrong_ with my magic at the moment. But yours, yours is strong. Surely you can feel it?"

And, standing this close to the dark-haired woman, looking into worried black eyes, Emma _can_ feel it. She can feel the tingle, the spark that exists whenever they're in the same room. But –

"But I don't know how!"

"Don't whine dear, it's not becoming." Regina straightens up and her face closes, settling into a familiar, determined mask. "I'll help you."

xxx

Henry lies under the throw blanket. His face is grey, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Emma crouches on the floor beside him. At Regina's instruction she holds out her hands, hovering them above their son's body. Regina stands behind her, slightly to the left, not quite visible in Emma's peripheral vision. Her quiet, calm voice is soothing and Emma tries to tune out everything else and just listen to the words.

"Close your eyes," the husky voice commands. Emma does.

"Magic is emotion. That's all it is. You just need to _feel_ it."

"Feel what?" Emma interjects.

She feels lots of things. She feels fear. Fear that she won't be good enough, that she won't be able to do this, won't be able to help their son. She feels a hint of anger at the fact that she's even being asked to try in the first place. She feels her legs starting to cramp under her body, feels how precarious her balance is when she's crouched down on her toes like this.

Regina sighs heavily. "Focus, Miss Swan. Stop thinking. Start feeling."

Emma closes her eyes again and stretches her hands out further. She tries to feel, she really does. But the question nags at her. _Feel what?_

Her magic tingles in her fingers. That she _can_ feel. In fact, if she doesn't purposefully tune it out she can feel it almost all the time, an annoying buzz or hum that runs the length of her body.

She tries to draw it forward, to focus it in her hands. She thinks it might be working, at least a little. Her fingers are tingling. Although that could be from lack of circulation from holding them up for so long, she's not sure.

She can sense Regina move closer, a current in the air or perhaps in the magic that hums through her body.

"Magic is emotion," Regina repeats. "Think of your love for Henry. Feel it."

Emma thinks of Henry, lying hurt and in pain on the couch, and she feels helpless. Like a failure. Her concentration wavers.

And then she finds a memory. It's of Henry, smiling at her in joy. She doesn't remember the occasion, just remembers his wide smile, his sparkling eyes. She remembers the feel of his small, strong arms wrapped around her body. She remembers how he looks when he's happy. And she remembers how he looks when he's sleeping, his face round and innocent.

Through her closed eyes she's suddenly aware of a bright light, and when she opens her eyes the shining whiteness is still there, glowing, surrounding her hands.

"Wow," she breathes out.

"Indeed," comes the dry response behind her. "Now take that, and heal him."

"How?" Emma cries out. The white light dims.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Regina exclaims. She closes the distance, drops down behind Emma and rests both her hands on Emma's shoulders.

The reaction is instantaneous. A flush of warmth floods Emma's body. Her cheeks and ears are burning, and wetness pools between her legs. The white light flares bright, and then it shifts somehow, changing color to a warm, purplish-pink. Emma squints her eyes against the brightness, struggling to keep them open, to watch.

The words come against her ear, causing her to shiver involuntarily. "Now. Heal him."

And she does.

She brings her glowing hands to rest gently on Henry's body. She feels the love flowing through her, both her own love and also Regina's love. Who could have imagine that such a pure love could exist in such a damaged woman?

She makes Henry better.

Bones and flesh knit beneath her fingers. She knows very little about anatomy, but she can feel the hurt fading, being replaced by healthy cells. By flowing blood, by a whole body.

And then it's done.

Regina stumbles back, quickly, and Emma is left feeling empty and alone. And so very tired.

Henry opens his eyes slowly and looks up at her in wonder.

"Emma?" he stutters. "It doesn't hurt anymore!"

xxx

Henry is tucked in bed, hopefully sound asleep. Emma leans on the island in Regina's kitchen, a place that's now becoming increasingly familiar to her. And increasingly comfortable.

Regina is pouring two cups of tea from a teapot. The scent of licorice and spices fills the kitchen and Emma sighs with contentment.

They chat quietly about benign things. About the fact that Henry needs new school pants. Again. About the havoc wreaked by the windstorm. Emma confesses, somewhat sheepishly, about her stacks of incomplete forms, and Regina waves them off as unnecessary paperwork.

Regina finishes pouring them each their second mug of tea and sets the teapot back down on the counter. She has a little hat for the teapot, something Emma has just learned is called a tea cozy. To keep the tea warm.

Regina tucks the knitted tea cozy over the pot and then slides one of the mugs back down the island counter top towards her.

The dark-haired woman's actions are relaxed, loose and casual. Her hair is down, escaped from the pony tail and it hangs casually about her face. There's a strand covering her eyes and Emma fights back an impulse to reach out and tuck those dark locks gently behind a perfect ear.

"Honestly," Regina says after a moment, looking up at Emma through her dark hair, "For a man who was shepherd and the son of a farmer, that can't have been the first broken bone he's seen in his life. I would have thought he'd have more initiative than he showed today."

Emma cocks her head. "David, you mean?"

The dark head nods. She doesn't look judgmental, just somewhat thoughtful.

"He's not a bad guy, you know," Emma says. Then she asks, somewhat tentatively, "Where did you learn...?

"How to heal?"

"Yes. Or... Can you heal? With magic, I mean?"

"I can. I used to be able to, anyways. I was quite good at it, although it wasn't one of the skills I used the most often..." Regina trails off, lost in thought. Emma wonders if she feels regret that her powers were used to harm more than help, or if she's simply tired after an adrenaline-filled day.

After a few moments Emma speaks quietly into the comfortable silence. "You _used_ to be heal? Why not now?"

"As I said earlier, there's something wrong with my magic."

"Oh." Emma doesn't understand, not really, although she wonders if magic feels as strange and perplexing to Regina these days as it does to her. "How did you learn?"

"Horseback riding. Once I was a queen, I didn't have time to wait for my body to coalesce naturally." Black eyes meet Emma's briefly. Regina draws her mug of tea close, wrapping her elegant fingers around its warmth. "It was my one escape, a way to get away from what my life had become. I've fallen a few times. And been kicked. But only once. I never got behind a spooked horse again."

And Emma is reminded, yet again, just how much depth there is to this woman. How much she doesn't know about her. And just how badly she wants to get to know Regina, to get to know the person behind the so-called 'evil queen'. Who really doesn't feel evil at all anymore.

Sure, Regina can still deliver stinging comments, and she can still get excessively defensive and rude at times, but she seems to have softened somehow. Every day she feels more and more like the woman Emma knew in Boston. More and more like the woman who had laughed in delight at a snowfall, who had looked for the best in people, including in Emma herself.

And, Emma realizes with a start, each day Regina is feeling more and more like the mother that Henry deserves, the mother she always wanted for him.

And each day, she is more and more the woman that Emma finds herself falling deeply in love with.


	16. Chapter 16

Regina takes a deep, steadying breath. She pauses, gathering her thoughts and her courage. Then she tosses back her shoulders, raises her chin and pushes open the door. The little bell hanging on the door frame tinkles and Regina steps into the dark, cluttered space.

She stands, straight and proud, and glances around the room. As her eyes adjust to the dim light they fall on item after item. A pair of dolls. A globe. An old, tarnished lamp. A typewriter missing several of its keys. Mirrors and mobiles. Bird cages and lamp shades, a collection of empty picture frames. An animal skull, a model ship, and a jar of miscellaneous buttons and pins.

A collection of treasures, although none of them truly belonging to the man who claims to own them. The man who operates this pawn shop.

As if thinking his name conjures him up, a figure pushes aside the curtain that separates the main area from the back of the store. He's unhurried, and seems utterly unsurprised to see her here.

"Gold," she acknowledges.

"Regina." His voice is dry, like dead leaves in the autumn. A smile curves his lips, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"It's looking a little empty in here," she observes calmly, gesturing around herself.

"Ah yes," he agrees. A few limping steps bring him around the counter and into the middle of the shop. "Now that people have their memories back, many of them have come looking for their treasures. I'm more than happy to oblige."

"For a price, of course," Regina interjects. She knows his games all too well.

"Of course," he murmurs in agreement. "But you're not here to check on my inventory, are you?"

She shakes her head once, sharply. A long pause, and then she admits, "I need you to tell me what's wrong with my magic."

"What's _wrong_ with your _magic_," he repeats slowly. There is a deadly sparkle in his eyes and Regina knows he's enjoying this. She tries not to fidget, tries to look him squarely in the eyes, channeling all the confidence of the queen that her mother made her.

An amused smile twists the corner of his mouth and she knows that he sees right through her. He takes another step forward, his cane tapping softly on the wooden floor.

"And just what, dearie, are you willing to give me in exchange for that piece of information?"

She's ready for this question. She steps forward as well, meeting him head on. "As I see it," she informs him, "I've already done you a favor."

"How so?" His eyes sharpen and she knows she has his attention.

"Remember your friend Hook?"

"Yes." The word is drawn out, hissed with a hint of distaste.

"Word has it you laid pretty low entire time your _friend_ was in town."

"Perhaps," he admits, and then, "I can handle the pirate."

"Of course," she nods. "But you didn't have to. I got rid of him. So now, you owe me."

"Ah." He smiles, and it's not altogether pleasant, but she knows that he always appreciates a game well-played.

"Very well," he agrees after a moment. "Consider yourself paid up in advance. Now, your question please?"

Her eyes flash as she steps forward. "What's wrong with my magic?"

"You already know what's wrong, I daresay."

Regina's eyes close involuntarily and a pained look flits across her face.

The man moves closer, circling. "'_Magic is emotion'_," he quotes. "What's happened to your emotions, dearie?"

Her eyes snap open again, blazing. "Not good enough!" she exclaims. Then, more quietly, "You said that I already knew the answer. So I consider our deal unfulfilled. I want a new deal."

He tilts his head, regarding her with what she knows is only a minimal amount of patience. His drab brown hair falls softly around his face. He's much calmer in this land, but no less deadly.

"What do you propose?" he asks at last.

"Emma owes you a favor," she says.

His eyebrows raise. She's managed to surprise him at least.

She continues, "I want you to cancel that favor in return for the one that I granted you – getting rid of the pirate."

"No deal," he says quietly. "The favor Miss Swan owes me is worth far more than you realize."

She can feel her ire rising, she's running out of patience. She steps forward, ready to insist, somehow, because the last thing she wants is her son's other mother to remain indebted to this man. But he raises a single finger and she stops instantly in her tracks.

"However," he says in an oddly perky tone of voice. "I might be willing to make a new deal."

"What are the terms," she asks warily.

"You give me a drop of your magic. Just one single drop, and I rescind the favor owed by Miss Emma Swan."

"What?" she asks flatly.

"Just one drop," he repeats, stepping forward again. There's a smile on his face, but the intensity in his eyes informs Regina that this is something he truly desires, something of great value to him.

"What are you going to do with it?" she asks warily.

"None of your business, dearie!"

"One drop of my magic," she says slowly, "And you leave my family alone. Forever. No more deals, no more manipulations, nothing that could, in any way at any point down the road, harm or affect any one of us in any way. Me and Henry. And Miss Swan."

"Oh, she's family now, is she?" he cackles.

Regina merely tilts her chin up and looks him in the eye. He wants this, she can almost taste her victory.

He grows serious again, tips his head to one side, considering. Then he nods. "Deal."

She nods as well, sharply. "How do you want it?" she inquires.

"This will do," he states. He draws a small bottle out of one of his many drawers and removes the stopper. "In here, please."

She concentrates, creates a tiny ball of magic. It comes out a warm, purplish-pink, but for the first time she doesn't feel frustration at this fact. The ball hovers in front of her for a moment, then she directs it into the bottle.

The man caps it quickly and holds the bottle up. He rolls it between his fingers, inspecting the contents.

"Pink," he declares, a pleased note creeping into his voice. "The color of _true love_." The words are mocking, and yet somewhat wondrous at the same time.

She's spellbound, she can't look away. Hearing it out loud for the first time is terrifying, but also strangely reassuring.

And then he smiles at her. Regina is startled to see that it reaches his eyes, just ever so slightly. The moment passes as he sweeps the bottle into his pocket.

She nods at him, not trusting herself to speak, and turns away, suddenly needing to be outside in the fresh air. She pulls her jacket tightly around her body, ducks her head and slips out onto the street.

As she walks, she's overtaken by a sudden lightness, a feeling of freedom. She looks up into the spring sunshine and a delighted laugh escapes her throat, startling herself.

She ducks her head again, but this time it's to hide the wide grin splitting her face. Who would have imagined? True love indeed.

xxx

As she walks briskly away from the pawn shop her mind is on Emma and Henry, who she knows are spending the afternoon together. She wonders what they're up to. She wonders if Henry will stay the night at her place afterwards. She wonders if Emma will stay for dinner.

She turns a corner, her eyes falling on the cascade of the blossoms lending a startling flush of color to the cherry trees lining the street. These blossoms are fleeting. They start slowly in the spring, then burst forth suddenly, lingering for a week or maybe ten days. Then the trees will shed their blossoms in a flurry of colorful snow to make room for fresh green foliage.

The blossoms right now are at their prime. And they're pink, bright pink, an observation that sends a stupidly giddy smile to her face.

She's so preoccupied by the pink blossoms that she doesn't notice Mary Margaret Blanchard until they've practically collided. She stops, her face twisting in automatic annoyance, some of her good mood fading. Of all the people to break into her happiness, of course it would have to be Snow White.

She rolls her eyes, starts to step around but Mary Margaret shifts, subtly blocking her way. Brown eyes search her face, questioning, and then a wide smile breaks out on pale lips.

Regina's scowl deepens. She debates with herself whether to engage this or simply brush past and head for home, but a moment later the decision is taken from her hands.

"Regina," Mary Margaret breathes out in greeting.

Regina nods warily, tries not to meet the other woman's eyes.

There is a hint of amusement on Mary Margaret's face. "You're looking... happy," she observes.

There is no rancor in her voice, which would usually annoy Regina to no end, but today Mary Margaret is actually right. She _is_ happy. And so she finally looks deep into the eyes of her arch nemesis, the mother of the woman she loves. And she nods again. More firmly this time.

"I am," she acknowledges in a husky voice.

Mary Margaret smiles. "You're not as bad as you like people to think, you know. At least, not anymore," she hastily amends.

Regina feels her mouth tighten, irritated at the fact that this woman thinks she understands her, thinks she can judge her. Mary Margaret starts to take an unconscious step back at the look on her face, having learned long ago what that look means. The she catches herself and holds her ground, looking at Regina warily but firmly.

Regina finds the reaction amusing and so she simply says, "Oh?"

She's expecting something trite. Something about how she's changed. How she's a good mother to her son, or perhaps even that she was a good mayor for the town. Or, heaven forbid, that perhaps she's worthy of being friends with Snow White's daughter. Because that's something that this woman would just love to acknowledge, of course.

But Mary Margaret simply tips her head and says, "You could have killed me at any time. I know that. But you didn't."

Regina feels her jaw start to sag and she snaps it shut with annoyance.

"I always loved you, you know," Mary Margaret continues, a hint of wistfulness in her voice. "As a big sister, as a mother even. Even when I was angry, even when I was scared, even when you hurt me, you were always still that woman who saved me at a time when I was frightened for my life. You were always the woman who gave a young girl a feeling of comfort, of safety. And I always loved you."

Regina swallows hard past the sudden lump stuck in her throat. "I know," she says at last. Because she does know.

She wishes that she could say it back, wishes that she always had love in her heart for a well-intentioned little girl. She wishes that she were as _good_ as this person standing in front of her now, this woman whose daughter she wants to spend the rest of her life with. And she realizes just how far she still has to go. But at least she's gotten started.

There is a softness in Mary Margaret's eyes as she nods gently and then steps around Regina, disappearing quickly down the street. Regina, quiet and still under the pink blossoms, watches her walk away.

xxx

Regina stands again in front of her gilded mirror, studying her reflection. She was once dubbed '_the fairest in the land_', but she finds it hard to reconcile the frightening beauty of that woman with the person she is today. Today there is a softness around her mouth, a faint hint of light in her eyes. The woman in the mirror is relaxed, and the slack contentment on her face would be shocking if she weren't so at ease in this moment.

She smiles. Watches the muscles in her cheeks tighten, sees a flash of white teeth. This isn't a practiced smile, it's real. And it feels natural. Right.

How incredible.

She holds out her hand and conjures up her magic. She can feel it flowing, running strong and powerful through her veins. She thinks first of a rose, but no, that's too pedantic, too ordinary. After a moment she pictures a lily, petals gleaming red at the tips and fiery orange in the center, with a scent that is deep and alluring.

The flower comes to life in her outstretched fingers. The weight of it is pleasing, the colors vibrant and just as intense as she'd imagined. And it turns out that there is nothing wrong with her magic.

She catches the eye of the woman in the mirror. Notices the happiness there, the joy. Her smile grows broader.

She turns from the mirror and pads into the kitchen, seeking a vase for the flower.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N Please note that the rating has gone up to M. I guess I got a little carried away in this chapter. My apologies if this is a problem for anyone...  
_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Emma stands on the broad front porch, shifting nervously from foot to foot. The door opens to reveal brown eyes that light up first in pleasure, and then dim slightly in confusion.

Regina glances around and asks, "Where's Henry?"

"He wanted to go to a party tonight," Emma replies, somewhat sheepishly. She should have called ahead, should have told the other woman that Henry was unavailable for dinner, but she hadn't. Selfishly, she hadn't wanted dinner to be cancelled.

Dark eyes register a moment of hurt and Emma hastens to explain. "It has nothing to do with you or me," she says quickly. "One of the boys in his class decided to have some friends over, and there's this girl..."

"Oh." Regina looks lost for a moment, and Emma doesn't blame her. Henry's stammering explanation, his desperate plea to be released from their dinner plans, and the red flush on his face when he'd told her who was going to be at this party had all taken Emma by surprise.

She smiles now at the memory. "I think your son has a crush," she says simply.

"Our son," Regina corrects automatically, and Emma's smile broadens.

Regina smiles back, tentative and a little awkward, and steps back from the door. "Well, I don't suppose we should let dinner go to waste. Won't you come in?"

xxx

The table is set for three. Emma stands silently as Regina removes one of the place settings, then trails after her into the kitchen to watch her tuck the dishes away.

The dark-haired woman opens a cupboard of glassware and glances over her shoulder at Emma. "I suppose we should have some wine, then. White or red?"

"Red," Emma replies easily, and Regina nods in approval.

Regina draws two wine glasses out of the cupboard, round crystal goblets, and gestures for Emma to select a bottle from the wine rack. Emma knows next to nothing about wines, apart from the fact that she usually doesn't mind them, but she figures that anything that's in Regina's collection is bound to be good and so she draws out a bottle at random.

Regina hands her a corkscrew, then turns to peek in the oven. Emma strips the foil from the top of the bottle and watches Regina as she checks her cooking. Her face is focused, her figure trim and appealing in a form-fitting pair of black pants that are high-wasted and smartly tapered. A white dress shirt is pulled taught across her shoulders as she reaches into the oven and Emma finds her gaze caught by the muscles flexing in the woman's upper back, faintly visible through the expensive fabric.

Regina straightens and closes the oven door, tosses her head to shake loose hair out of her eyes.

Emma clears her throat and returns her focus to the bottle of wine. She pops the cork and tilts the bottle, watching it splash into the elegant glasses. As she's pouring, Regina draws a large bowl of mixed greens from the fridge and sprinkles on what looks to be a dressing. They work at their tasks in companionable silence, and Emma wonders just when they became so comfortable with one another.

Regina indicates with a gesture that Emma should carry the wine into the dining room and she does, making a second trip to bring the bottle as well. She swirls the glasses as she sets them down, figuring any red wine in Regina's collection should breathe before being consumed.

The dark-haired woman delivers the salad to the table and then pauses, glancing thoughtfully at a shelving unit. After a moment she selects a pair of candles, tall and white, and carries them to the table. She extracts a packet of matches from a drawer, but Emma stops her.

"Wait," she says. "I've been practicing."

Emma fixes the candles in her mind, then closes her eyes. She concentrates, feeling the familiar humming in her body. It wants an outlet, as it always does, and she gives it one. A moment later her eyes blink open. The candles are now topped by two little flames, burning happily. She looks up at Regina, pleased and just a little bit proud.

Regina nods, acknowledging the magic. "Very good," she purrs softly.

She drops the matches back into the drawer and shuts it firmly. Then she raises her hands, palms outstretched, and the room is filled with a flurry of butterflies. They dance around the candles, spinning in large, eccentric circles that cause the flames to flutter madly, before vanishing in a soft puff of smoke.

"Show off," Emma mutters darkly, looking across the table to meet amused brown eyes.

Regina raises a single eyebrow, still looking insufferably smug, and slides out of the room. She returns with a covered platter in her hands. After setting the platter down she leaves the room again, but just for a moment. When she returns she's holding a simple glass vase that contains the most exquisite flower Emma has ever seen. She places the flower in the center of the table, taking a moment to fuss with its placement.

Emma is drawn closer by the smell of the sweet pollen. Each of the lily's six petals are perfectly formed, vibrant orange in the center and blood red on the tips. "Wow," she breathes out. "Where did you find a flower like that this time of year?"

"It's for you," Regina replies softly.

Emma looks up into soft, vulnerable eyes. "Thank-you," she whispers back. She reaches towards the flower, hesitates for a moment, then brushes wondrous fingers along the silky petals.

Regina looks away, embarrassed. After a moment she seems to remember their dinner, waiting for them on the table. She reaches out to grasp the handle on platter's cover, drawing it off smoothly. Emma glances up from the flower.

"Hey," she says abruptly, her fingers falling away from the soft petals. "Are those chicken fingers?"

Regina nods, a pleased smirk playing on the corners of her lips. Emma laughs out loud.

xxx

After dinner they sit in Regina's study sipping the last of the wine. The lights are dimmed, softening the harsh black and white decor. Emma's belly is full of good food, and the wine has left her feeling content and relaxed. She had carried her flower with her when they'd come into the study and it sits now on the side table beside the large leather couch, its petals vibrant even in the low light.

Their conversation is awkward at times, two people both unused to small talk, but Henry is always a safe topic and Emma finds herself sharing stories of her time with their son. Regina listens intently, asking the occasional question, and smiling at some of Emma's mishaps. How was Emma to know that Henry's school sweaters would shrink several sizes when run through the dryer?

Their conversation dies off naturally and Emma finds herself studying Regina, caught yet again by the other woman's natural beauty. Her smooth skin glows golden in the low light and her eyes sparkle, dark and mysterious.

After a moment, Emma tentatively asks a question that's been nagging at her recently. "Regina, what are you going to do now?"

Regina's eyes meet hers, unusually calm and at peace. "What do you mean?" she asks.

"Well, I assume you're staying in Storybrooke..." Emma lets her words trail off, afraid to voice one of her worst fears.

Regina nods and shrugs, looking somewhat nonchalant about her answer. "Henry is here," she says. "And..."

"And?"

"And... _other people_... as well."

Emma smiles. That's as close to an admission as she's going to get at the moment, and for now it's good enough.

"What are you planning to do?" she asks after a moment. "I mean, you're not... mayor... anymore. I don't imagine it's all that exciting sitting in this house all day."

Emma worries her lip with her teeth, wonders if she's moved onto shaky ground. But Regina just regards her calmly.

"Actually," the dark-haired woman answers. "I've been to see Mother Superior this afternoon. You know, the-"

"Blue Fairy," Emma cuts in.

"Yes." Regina pauses for a moment. "I've offered her my help. With healing," she clarifies. "At the hospital perhaps, or at the convent. For people who are sick or injured."

Emma blinks, momentarily speechless. "Wow," she breathes out at last. "That's great. But I thought your magic..."

"My magic is fine," Regina says firmly. "It was just a... misunderstanding."

"Oh." Emma thinks for a moment, then finds herself breaking out into a broad grin. "Regina, that's great!" she exclaims. "I'm really... well, I'm really proud of you."

She glances away, a little embarrassed by her outburst, certain that Regina would never be seeking her approval. And yet the look on Regina's face is one of bashful pleasure. There is a faint hint of a red flush on her neck and in her cheeks. It could just be the wine, but perhaps not.

Regina clears her throat, glances down to her knees and then back up again. "When do we need to pick up Henry?" she asks, deftly changing the subject.

Something inside Emma lights up at the word 'we', but she keeps her voice carefully neutral. "We don't, actually," she replies. "I texted Mary Margaret a little earlier, asked her to pick him up and take him home tonight."

Red lips open, about to ask for clarification, or perhaps to chastise, but Emma jumps in.

"I thought we should probably talk," she says carefully. Black eyes bore into hers, displaying a curious mixture of confusion and hope.

Emma places her glass down carefully beside the flower and slides closer, closing the space between them. The other woman's eyes drop to her hands, clenched tightly around the stem of the wine glass. Emma follows her gaze, notices that Regina's fine fingers are shaking, causing the wine in the elegant glass to jostle madly against the sides.

"Hey," she says gently. She wraps her fingers around Regina's own, steadying her hand. The now-familiar jolt of energy surges through her and she welcomes it, finally understanding what it means.

"I thought you wanted to talk." Regina's words are husky, her eyes fixed firmly on their joined hands.

"Well, that, or..." Emma extracts the wine glass gently from Regina's grip. She takes a deep breath, and then she reaches out with her free hand to trail deliberate fingers along a fine jaw line. Regina doesn't pull away and so she cups the dark-haired woman's face gently in her palm. Regina sighs softly. Her eyes slide shut as she leans her head into Emma's hand.

Emma spends a few long moments luxuriating in the feel of soft, warm skin, in the intimacy of the moment. Then she slides her fingers down to find purchase under a pointed chin. She tips Regina's head up gently, and after a moment brown eyes blink open to meet hers.

Regina's pupils are dilated, her features soft and perhaps a little overwhelmed. Emma smiles gently.

"Regina, when we broke your curse and you got your memory back..." she starts.

The dark-haired woman cuts her off. "Less talking," she says. A glint appears in those dark eyes. A hint of pleasure, of joy and mischief. She leans forward and brings her lips gently to Emma's own.

A soft moan escapes from the back of Emma's throat at the feel of the kiss. She closes her eyes and winds her fingers in dark, silky hair, pulling Regina closer. Their tongues tangle, fighting momentarily for dominance before finding a mutual rhythm.

After several long moments Regina breaks the kiss and inhales a deep, shaking breath. Emma opens her eyes, tries to focus on Regina's face which is still so close to hers. Regina's head tips back, her chin brushing Emma's forehead, and a soft, delighted laugh escapes her throat.

Regina looks her in the eyes and smiles, genuine and joyful. Then she glances down at Emma's hands. "Don't spill that, dear," she whispers.

With a start, Emma rights the wineglass, dangling forgotten in her fingers at a perilous angle.

Regina takes the half-empty glass from her hand and sets it down dismissively, then reaches out a hand to draw Emma to her feet. Confident now in a way that leaves Emma a little breathless, the dark-haired woman leads her from the study, shutting the lights as they go.

The lily remains behind, forgotten.

xxx

In the bedroom, Regina scatters unlit candles around various flat surfaces. The only light at the moment is streaming in from the hallway, casting the room in a series of sharp shadows. Regina flicks off the hall light and closes the door, plunging the room into darkness.

Emma stands in the dark room, awkward with anticipation. She feels a brush of air on her cheek, then a tingle where the other woman's warm hand settles lightly on her hip. Words are breathed into her ear, sending a shiver up her spine.

"Light them for us."

Emma inhales sharply, then lets out a long, shaky breath. "I can't see them," she whispers back.

"You don't need to," Regina replies. She's moving, shifting to Emma's other side. Her hand drags across Emma's lower back, her body brushing against Emma's own. Her breathing is hot in Emma's ear, insistent. "Light them."

Emma closes her eyes, tries to draw forth the buzz that is her magic. But it's erratic, jumping from place to place. From Regina's fingers resting on her ribs, down to the hipbone pressed against Emma's thigh. And oh god, is that a breast pressing into Emma's arm?

"I can't," she stammers out.

Regina laughs, low and sultry. "Yes," she insists. "You can."

Fingers brush Emma's long hair to the side and soft lips trail across the base of her neck. Emma inhales again, sharp and shaky. She spins to face Regina, fumbles in the dark to grab those dangerous hands and pulls them off her body, grasping them tightly in her own.

She takes a step away from the distracting woman in front of her. Her eyes are beginning to adjust and she can see a hint of shadows around the room, silhouettes and shapes. But it's not enough to see the candles clearly and so she closes her eyes and concentrates. Seeks that in the room which wants to hold a flame. Feels Regina next to her, burning the brightest, but casts outwards, beyond the two of them. She finds the wicks, and, this is surprisingly easy now, she coaxes them to light.

She opens her eyes to look into Regina's pleased gaze, the light of the candles flickering in her eyes. There is a hint of smugness about her, of pride, and Emma realizes that it's directed at her. Regina is actually proud of her.

The dark-haired woman extracts her hands from Emma's grip and wraps them around her waist, pulling her close, encouraging the Emma to melt into her body.

It doesn't take long before they are undressed, kneeling on the bed, facing each other in the candlelight. Emma reaches out, runs wondrous fingers over a perfect collar bone.

She looks up into brown eyes, and the words escape from her mouth unbidden. "I love you."

Those brown eyes widen in shock, the previous confidence draining fast. Regina reaches out blindly, grabs Emma's forearm in a tight grip. She's shaking again. Emma looks down at the white knuckles and then back up into dark, overwhelmed eyes.

She feels a faint smile stretching her lips. The other woman feels it too, Emma knows this in her heart, and that's all that matters. She decides to try a different approach.

"Here," she says gently. "Lie down."

She guides Regina onto her stomach, urging her to wrap her arms around a pillow.

"Comfortable?" she murmurs, and the dark head nods. She settles cross-legged bedside the prone figure. Her knees brush Regina's body, one coming to rest against the woman's rib cage and the other against her thigh. The room is pleasantly warm, the bed is soft, and she's willing to take her time.

She reaches out with her fingers, feeling the faint jolt of magic when she comes in contact with Regina's skin. The other woman jumps, ever so slightly, and Emma runs a soothing hand down her back. She traces Regina's spine, one vertebrae at a time. Brushes the ends of dark hair off strong shoulders, walks her fingers from one tiny freckle to the next. Then her fingers slide back down over a shoulder blade, along the expanse of a graceful back, stopping to rest just above the swell of Regina's buttocks.

In the candlelight Regina's skin glows golden. Smooth and perfect and warm. Emma's breath catches in her throat as she studies the beauty lying on the bed. Hers to touch. Amazing.

She continues to trace idle patterns on the skin before her. The gentle swell of a bicep, the knobs on the top of Regina's shoulders, the curve of her lower back. Slowly she feels the body under her fingers relax. The magic humming between them is calm now, safe and comforting.

Regina's lips release a contented sigh. Dark eyes open, peer up at Emma from their place on the pillow. Red lips curl into a contented smile.

Emma smiles back. She uncrosses her legs, careful not to disturb the figure lying prone before her, and pushes to her knees. She braces herself with a hand on either side of Regina's lower back swings herself over, straddling Regina's body, settling on shapely buttocks. A happy groan escapes the woman lying beneath her.

Emma's hand are more firm now, massaging tight shoulders and a stiff neck. She runs her hands up into dark hair, cups Regina's skull in her palms. For a moment she remains still, simply holding, and then she begins to move her fingers in small, tight circles. Another massage. And another small moan.

Her hands return to Regina's back. This time she grows bolder. Skims her fingers along the side of ribs, feels the soft swell of breasts pressed into the bed. She cups Regina's hips, which are nearly beneath her thighs, and pulls the woman up against her. Regina's body pushes upwards, meeting hers, before sinking back onto the bed.

Emma slides backwards. She wraps her arms under Regina's torso, one hand under her hips and the other across her collarbones, and gently guides the dark-haired woman to her hands and knees. Regina rises gracefully. Her head falls forward, dark hair falling around her face to expose a sinuous neck.

Emma leans forward, pressing her belly and breasts tight to Regina's back. Her lips find the vertebrae at the base of that long neck and she kisses it gently. Then harder, open-mouthed, catching the skin of Regina's neck with her tongue and a hint of teeth. Her lips work their way up Regina's neck and she feels the coiled strength of this woman, and also the extreme vulnerability. It's a heady mixture.

She nuzzles her nose into Regina's hairline, inhaling that fleeting scent of apples that has haunted her since Boston. Closing her eyes she draws the other woman closer still. One deep breath, and then another. They are breathing in time, and Emma can feel their hearts beating as one.

Regina is waiting for her, she knows this. Letting her direct their actions. The sheer amount of trust brings tears to her eyes.

One arm is propped on the bed, holding her up as she curls around Regina's back. Her other hand begins to move. Counts each rib as it brushes up the warm body in her arms. Skims along the underside of a soft breast, then back down again to find the point of a sharp hip bone. The curve of a belly, then drifting up to wrap gently around Regina's throat.

The woman in her arms stiffens and Emma places a reassuring kiss on the back of her neck. She slides her fingers away from the vulnerable spot and feels Regina relax. A moment later she skims across a full breast, dangerously close to a nipple and the woman stiffens again, this time for an entirely different reason.

Smiling to herself, Emma runs her fingers around the outside of that perfect breast. Feels the texture of the flesh, the shaky breathing. She moves her fingers in large, teasing circles, then smaller ones, and then finally she allows herself the luxury of brushing against a stiff nipple. Regina gasps, immediately pushing into her hand.

Emma withdraws slightly, then returns to cup a full breast in the palm of her hand. Regina arches into her, tipping her head back against Emma's shoulder, a long moan drawn from her lips. Emma grabs an ear lobe in her teeth and bites down gently, drawing another surprised gasp.

Somewhat reluctantly she releases her gentle hold on the soft breast and skims her fingers downwards, dipping gently into a belly button, and then lower still to brush wiry curls. Regina surges again as Emma slides lower, finding hot, silky wetness against her fingertips.

She closes her mouth on the skin at the base of Regina's neck, tasting sweetness and a hint of salt. Then she curls her fingers, entering the other woman swiftly but gently. Regina's head falls forward once again, her forehead coming to rest on the plush pillow. Her muscles are taught, her body tightly strung, and Emma can feel her beginning to tremble.

She stills her fingers, buried deep inside the other woman, and just holds her. She plants light kisses along Regina's shoulder.

Emma holds the woman gently, intimately. "What do you want?" she whispers against Regina's ear.

A sharp inhale of breath, a long, slow exhale, and then Regina is moving. She extracts herself from Emma's embrace, tugs on the arm that's supporting Emma on the bed. Emma allows herself to collapse, falling down into soft sheets. And then Regina is pushing on her hips, rolling her onto her back.

Regina tosses a strong thigh across her body and settles herself firmly on Emma's hips. Emma looks up into dark, smoldering eyes and her breath catches in her throat. Regina's lips are pursed, the look on her face is one of barely restrained passion.

"I want _you_," the dark-haired woman admits at last, seemingly fascinated by her own admission.

She rolls her hips and Emma's body surges upwards in response, causing a wicked smile to curl the corner of red lips. Regina lowers her warm body, her breasts just brushing against Emma's own.

Emma's hands snake up to wind in soft, dark hair. She catches the faint smell of apples again. Emma tugs, not particularly gently, and Regina falls onto her body, meeting her lips in a fiery kiss.

Regina sets up a rhythm against Emma's body, slow at first, then gaining momentum and intent. Emma's hands release Regina's hair and slide downwards, finding purchase on shapely hipbones. Regina bites down gently on Emma's lower lip and the blonde surges upwards, the blood pounding loudly in her ears. Her hands reach out wildly, finally coming to rest on firm buttocks, pulling Regina closer. Another nip to her lip and Emma digs her fingernails into Regina's skin.

The dark-haired woman hisses in pleasure. She rolls her hips against Emma's own, and then she pushes up onto her knees to look down at the woman below her through hooded eyes. She's panting slightly, her chest heaving and Emma finds herself coming undone at the sight. Her heart beats wildly against her rib cage, as if offering itself up to the woman hovering above her.

Their eyes meet.

Regina adjusts her position and lowers herself again, hot skin against hot skin. Her fingers enter Emma smoothly, without preamble, and Emma's head slams back into the pillow. She fights to keep her eyes open, to remain focused on the beautiful woman above her.

Emma's long fingers slide from Regina's hipbone to find the scalding wetness between her legs. The dark-haired woman groans, her eyelids fluttering madly. They find a natural rhythm, moving together tentatively at first, then faster. Harder. More urgently.

The fingers of Emma's free hand slide through the sweat beading on Regina's back, seeking purchase. Finally she anchors her fingers in the hair at the base of the other woman's skull.

Regina tips her head down, their foreheads meeting, resting firmly together. Emma can feel hard, hot breath on her face, is surrounded again by that alluring scent of apples.

The fingernails of her one hand scrape down the back of Regina's neck, while her other hand corkscrews deep inside Regina's body. Regina meets her once, twice, driving down hard on her fingers, and then she throws her head back with a stifled scream as Emma pushes her over the edge. Her fingers clench inside the blonde and Emma explodes as well, vocally following Regina into oblivion.

Regina's head slumps down, the ends of her dark hair brushing Emma's chest. Her hair is damp with sweat, pleasingly mussed. Emma feels the spasms around her fingers slow, and finally stop, and she withdraws gently.

Regina inhales a shaky breath and pushes up and slightly away, dragging wet fingers teasingly up Emma's stomach. Dark eyes bore into Emma's, searching. Emma looks back at her, pours everything she has into her gaze.

A small, pleased smile curls the corners of Regina's mouth and she brings her fingers to her lips. A pink tongue darts out to lick the wetness from her fingertips and Emma can feel herself blushing at the intimate act. She remembers that same tongue wrapping around a cherry lollipop all those months ago. This is so much better.

Regina's eyes trail slowly down Emma's body, then back up to meet Emma's gaze. She smiles again, a wicked curl on the corners of her lips. "I hope you're not done," she drawls.

"Just getting started," Emma husks, her voice feeling gravelly and unused. She slides out from under the dark-haired woman and rises to her knees, pulling Regina in for another deep kiss.

The candles burn down slowly around them.


	18. Chapter 18

They lie on their sides, facing each other in bed. A soft sheet is draped across their bodies, the rest of the covers lie discarded on the floor. Emma is tracing idle patterns with her fingers on Regina's upper arm.

Something occurs to her and she says softly, "Did you hear? Gold left town."

Regina had been resting, simply reveling in the intimacy and closeness, in the feelings of comfort and safety. Emma's words rouse her, and she props herself up on her elbow to look down at deep grey eyes, at the messy blonde hair splayed out across one of her pillows.

"What?" Regina asks sharply. "How? The same way I did, or...?"

Emma's fingers still, her hand dropping away from Regina's arm. "I heard this from Mary Margaret, who heard it from Ruby who heard it from Belle, but apparently he's gone in search of his son."

Regina's eyes narrow pensively and Emma looks up at her in careful consideration. She pushes up on her elbow as well, bringing herself level with the dark-haired woman.

"Apparently," Emma continues, "He found a way to keep his memories across the town line. Something about finally finding his missing ingredient. Mary Margaret told me that..." She trails off, not quite sure how to continue.

Finally she takes a deep breath, looks Regina in the eye and just says it. "Belle said that you helped him. That you gave him what he needed to make it work."

"Ah," Regina nods faintly. "Perhaps I did. But it's not what you think."

Emma studies Regina's face in the dim light. She appears to be sincere, her features open, insistent.

"I just settled a debt," the dark-haired woman clarifies. "No more deals, and he won't be bothering us again. In fact, who knows if he'll even be back, once he finds his son."

"He'll be back," Emma says firmly. "Belle is here."

She collapses back onto the pillow and reaches out again to resume her soft caresses on Regina's shoulder. After a moment she says, "It's nice thought though, that maybe we won't need to worry about him again..."

Regina nods firmly, with certainty, and Emma feels something interesting. Trust. Faith. Belief.

It's a nice feeling.

Her fingers tighten for a moment on Regina's arm, then she slides her hand upward, winding her fingers into dark, mussed hair. She draws Regina down to meet her for a simple kiss. She murmurs the words against soft, perfect lips. "I love you."

And this time the sentiment is returned. Breathless, a little shaky, but certain. "I love you, too, Emma."

xxx

Emma's not sure what wakes her. She's dreaming, something about softness and flowers, and then she's awake, blinking up at a dark ceiling. The bed beside her is empty.

She glances around the room, seeking Regina, and then seeking a clock. She doesn't find either. She has no idea what time it is, except that it's still full dark outside. She casts outwards, using her other senses to look for her dark-haired lover. There. Behind the house. It feels like perhaps Regina is outside.

The candles are all out. Most of them have burned all the way down, but there are one or two with some wax still remaining. Emma draws her magic back inwards, casting a flame on the candle closest to the bed as she does so.

She lets the tingle of magic dissipate and rises from the sheets. In the dim light of the single candle she locates her clothing and then, after a moment of hesitation, she pokes her head into Regina's closet in search of something warm. A sweater, perhaps.

It's time to go find her girl.

xxx

It's an unusually calm night. The air is cold, probably not much above freezing, but there is no wind. In fact the air is so perfectly still that Regina feels no chill whatsoever. Above her, thousands of stars gleam in a perfectly clear night sky. The moon has not yet risen, or perhaps it has already set. Either way the sky is dark and clear.

Behind her the apple tree looms black and quiet, not even the slightest hint of wind to rustle its branches.

Regina feels a fleeting brush of something, a current in the magic that flows through her body, and she knows that Emma is awake. Awake and looking for her, mostly likely. And so she is unsurprised when she hears soft footsteps on the lawn behind her. She doesn't turn, just continues looking up into the night sky.

Emma draws up beside her, close enough that their shoulders brush lightly together. She tilts her blonde head up as well, following the direction of Regina's gaze. They stand quietly. It could be a minute, it could be an hour, but finally Regina breaks the silence. Her quiet words are clear in the calm, still night.

"Orion," she says softly. "He won't be visible much longer. Antilia. Ursa Major, of course, and Leo the lion."

She can see Emma out of the corner of her eyes, breathing softly, tiny puffs of condensation still visible in the crisp night air. She's wearing one of Regina's coats, an old one from the back of her closet. Emma's eyes follow Regina's faint gestures and she nods as her eyes track the constellations above them.

"The Pleiades," Regina continues quietly. "Seven sisters, known to grant esoteric knowledge to those who truly seek it."

She can feel Emma thinking, knows that she's working her way into asking a question but still tentative with their new connection, still treating her carefully. She decides to spare her lover the confusion, and answers what she suspects the question will be.

"My father," she says softly into the dark sky. "When I was young, he would take me out into the fields at night and teach me the stars."

Emma releases a slow breath and Regina knows she guessed correctly. It amazes her how well she knows this woman already, perhaps even better than she knows herself.

She can't see Emma's face, just a silhouette in her peripheral vision. The darkness surrounds her, embraces her. She feels safe, somewhat detached, and her words continue almost without thought.

"When I first learned magic I would look up at the Pleiades, seeking answers. I was never good enough you know, my magic was never strong enough. My mother would have said I wasn't committed enough. But that all changed, and I haven't looked upon the Pleiades in many years."

She feels something brushing her hand and realizes it's Emma's fingers, light like the wings of a butterfly. She allows her ring and pinky fingers to curl around Emma's, feeling a light squeeze in response.

Now that she's started talking, she can't seem to stop. The words flow from her, somewhat broken, but insistent.

"My mother served tea. It was herbal, dark. Bitter. It was seeped in her magic and it made me do things, _feel_ things. Things she wanted from me, wanted me to be." Regina's voice deepens as she feels her chest tighten at the memory. Those two fingers, holding tightly to hers, are the only thing keeping her anchored.

"So I never drank tea again. Until..."

The blonde's whispered words float on the night air, warm words that ease the ache in her chest. "Boston. You didn't know. And you found a different tea. Licorice spice."

Regina nods, knowing the blonde can't see it but sure that she can feel it. "Licorice root protects the soul. Expels negative energy. And..."

She trails off, but figures it's a little late now not to continue. She modulates her voice so that it comes out scholarly, matter of fact. "And it fans the flames of passion. It's a common aphrodisiac."

"Oh."

Emma Swan is blushing. She can't see it, but she can feel it. Can feel the heat, the altered flow in the current of energy that runs between them. She smiles into the darkness.

"Not that we needed it," she observes after a moment. Now it's her turn to flush, ever so slightly.

Her face cools quickly in the night air. Her mind is jumpy, impatient. There are so many things Emma needs to know, so much about her that she fears will put her new lover off.

She blurts out, "My fiancé died. Daniel. Snow White couldn't keep a secret and he died. And then my mother had me marry the king and it was horrible and lonely. And I went to Rumpelstiltskin and I learned magic, because my whole world had fallen apart. And I just wanted to make it better. I just wanted to be happy."

She's breathing heavily, choking on the words. There is a stillness beside her, and then Emma's hand grasps hers firmly, winding their fingers together. She holds tight, feels the energy and the intention. Emma isn't leaving her, isn't ever going to leave her.

She searches her mind for something else, for a better memory. After a moment she recalls an unanswered question from months previous, and she breathes out as she says, "I learned to cook after Henry was born. I had this child to take care of. And I wasn't going to have him grow up on Granny's take-out food."

She can feel Emma's smile in the darkness, can hear the soft hum of a acknowledgement from the back of the woman's throat. After a moment there is a tugging on her hand, gentle but firmly insistent, and she allows her body to be swung around to face the woman standing beside her. Under the starlight she can see a faint glint in Emma's eyes, a hint of something large and amazing. Love.

After a moment, Emma's lips part and she speaks softly, her words carrying clearly in the crisp night air.

"When I gave Henry up, one of the things I wished for him was that he would find a mother who cooked. Someone who would make him pancakes on Saturday mornings, roast chicken with steamed vegetables, homemade pizza. That's one of the things I never had..."

Her voice trails off, wistful.

Regina feels a clenching in her stomach, a pain that chokes her and makes the next words hard to get out. "I have been far from an ideal mother, Miss Swan."

Emma steps forward, placing a hand on her chest. Regina can feel her heart beating hard, as if trying to escape, trying to go to the woman in front of her.

"Hey, that's not what I meant," the blonde says. "You gave Henry so much more than I ever could have. Security. Safety. A home. He's a pretty neat kid, you know? Smart. Good with people. Knows how to take care of himself. He wouldn't be that way if he hadn't gotten support from you. _Love_ from you."

Emma pauses, then whispers the last words to the night sky. "Believe me, I know."

Regina can feel the emotions swirling in her chest. Doubt. Regret. A hint of shame.

Emma must sense these things for after a moment she looks back into Regina's eyes and steps closer, her hand still resting softly on over Regina's heart.

"You know what?" she says. "You're changing. You _have_ changed, for the better. And I'm changing too. I've really had to grow up, you know? If it weren't for Mary Margaret's intervention, these past few months Henry would have been eating Fruit Loops for dinner. And we'd be having temper tantrums at each other like two little kids, because boy is he stubborn sometimes. And so am I. But I want more for him than that."

"As do I," Regina says firmly. She pointedly ignores the reference to Snow White. Her feelings about that woman are, at the moment, still somewhat confusing. She supposes she should be grateful that the woman has been looking out for her son, but she's just not quite there. Not yet.

She focuses instead on the woman in front of her. The dim light has washed all colors to shades of grey, but Emma Swan sparkles nonetheless.

"Well, he's gonna get better than all that. From both of us," Emma continues firmly. She drops her hand from Regina's chest, sliding her fingers down to entwine with Regina's own once again.

"Perhaps you'd better leave the cooking to me," Regina suggests after a moment, finally managing a hint of a smile. The blonde smiles back, a flash of teeth visible in the starlight.

"So, together then?" Emma asks.

Regina takes a deep breath. She thinks back to Emma, walking by her side in Boston. She remembers the feeling of comfort. The safety and security, the support and friendship. And she realizes that that's what she wants from life from now on. Emma Swan at her side. Always. And perhaps, happiness will just naturally follow.

She nods."Together."

They move back to the house, side-by-side, fingers still tangled together. The door shuts gently behind them. Outside, in the clear night air, the spring stars shine on alone.

END

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_And there you have it. Thanks to everyone who stuck with me through this one! I can now go read all the "Regina crosses the line" stories that I've been setting aside until this one was complete - I didn't want to bias myself. So I'm off to do some reading... _

_Until next time!_

_-DK_


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